Chapter 13: Chapter 13

She couldn’t move. If yellow meant he was lying, he was falling in love with her. What could that mean? How could he

accuse her of treachery and love her? Madness? His eyes briefly showed a wariness and then they relaxed, his shoulders dropping.

His hand slipped over hers. “Miss do Brode, you tempt me.”

“Tempt you to do what?” she asked, her voice sounding breathless to her ears.

“Kiss you,” he whispered.

She slid her hand from under his and sat back in her seat, no longer feeling bold at all. She wanted to rush from the table. Though his hand had covered hers, she had seen the ring. It had glowed purple, almost pulsing. If the ring revealed his honesty, he had been tempted to kiss her.

She toyed with her fork, giving her something to do. Hardly an admission of love. Most men wanted to kiss a woman whether or not they cared for her.

Setting aside the fork, he took her fingers in his. She watched his hand like it was a snake, but she did not move. “Were you tempted, Miss do Brode?”

She liked her dry lips. “Tempted?” “Did you wish me to kiss you?”

He stared at the ring, openly challenging her to lie or be truthful.

She tugged, but he held on. “I doubt my answer would make any difference to you.” She yanked her hand from his grip, and he looked disappointed.

“The pastries are excellent. Try one.” He slid one onto his plate.

“I think I’ve had enough.”

“Your words have never rung truer.” He took a large bite of the pastry and smiled. “A kiss would have been sweeter, but this will do.” His next bite of pastry was a fragment compared to the first, and he continued to eat with tiny forkfuls that sat at the end of the tines. He took his time savoring each thin slice.

Kambry rolled her eyes and shifted in her seat. When he slid another pastry onto his plate, she stood up.

Prince Russal held his fork in front of his mouth, the morsel of pastry at the end of the tines. He tipped it toward her seat, indicating she was to sit down.

She sat with a huff.

“What do you like best about being a scribe?” The fork entered his mouth, and he removed it with a flourish.

He couldn’t possibly be interested in her occupation. She gazed sullenly at him, but he kept eating, one eyebrow slightly raised in innocent interest.

“Is it the writing? You like creating artistic letters, pretty curlicues?”

She drew in a breath and exhaled loud enough to consider it a response he could interpret.

“No? Is it the information itself? You like getting into other people’s business? Population numbers and social records soothe your soul?”

“Stop it.”

He put down his fork. “Talk to me. Tell me about scribing. You probably noted my handwriting is lacking in curlicues, and I’m jealously interested.”

She snorted. The lack of curlicues was the least of what was wrong with his writing. “I enjoy the precision needed in making sure anybody, years from now, can understand the information on the document. It is history, authenticity, life in words saved for the future.”

“So it wasn’t a job you were forced to do.”

“I chose it.” She rubbed her finger in a circle on the table, thinking about what it was that had drawn her to desire her apprenticeship with Master Muntrac. “Even though I often copy someone else’s work, there’s a challenge in capturing not just the tally of new births or the amount of hay produced per community acre. It’s satisfying and is a sort of extension of

myself. The documents I record last generations, enlighten and help the leaders make informed decisions.”

“Your own scribbled kingdom.” He took a generous bite of his pastry.

She leaned toward him. “Oh, if you want to talk about scribbling, I could criticize your effort at recording information.”

“A few parts of my education had to be dropped when I found myself ruler of a kingdom at eight years old,” he said, dryness in his tone. “Penmanship, according to my weapons master, had to be sacrificed.”

“I’m sorry.” She’d forgotten how he’d lost his parents.

“Yes, it was devastating for me to cut short my handwriting lessons, but I got over it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But it is what I would prefer to talk about.” He stuck the fork several times into the flaky crust. “I had to give up falconry, drawing and embroidery, among other activities.”

Kambry had been nodding kindly, but the last item on his list made her pause. “Embroidery?”

“Actually, I didn’t mind giving up that so much. Burtram felt I lacked fine motor control. It was either embroidery or knitting. Knitting felt too much like trying to make an attractive rat’s nest. I went with embroidery.” He twisted the fork, leaving a deep gouge in the crust. “I did enjoy it, especially the battle and hunting scenes I worked on.”

Was he teasing her? “I just can’t see you bent over cloth on your lap and pulling a needle through a rosette.”

He looked at her blandly, his lips twitching. “My guards did not have any rosettes on their armor.” He paused to stab his pastry. “No rosettes on the horses either.”

“Maybe a few runs of golden thread here and there,” she said, an impish delight encouraging her.

He leaned in as if sharing a secret. “Great swatches of golden thread. My mother complained I would impoverish the kingdom with my liberal gilding.”

Kambry laughed. Maybe she could imagine Prince Russal hoarding gold thread under his bedcovers and embroidering late at night when he was thought asleep.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I could see you hiding under your covers with a lamp, secretly adding more gold embellishments to your bloody battle scenes.”

He leaned back, a grin on his face. “That’s not too far from the truth.” His grin faltered. “Perhaps that was why I accepted the loss of that and other activities. So many of them reminded me of my parents and what I had lost.” He gazed at the floor, all his enjoyment gone.

“Have you thought of taking it up again?” He shook his head.

“You’ve quite riddled your pastry with holes. I imagine it tastes just as good though. Embroidery might as well.”

“You wish me to eat my embroidery?”

Had the quirk to his lips returned? “No. You might recapture some of your memories with your parents in it.”

He tossed his napkin on the table and slid the plate aside. Leaning on his elbows, he focused on her. “I’ve considered having a tapestry made for the great room, my audience chamber.” He raised his hand, encompassing the room they sat in.

So no more talk of his parents. Too sore a point. Kambry looked the room over. “Where were you thinking of putting this tapestry and what would it depict?”

“Over there.” He pointed at an expanse of wall which displayed a framed wood carving of a proilis flower in bloom. It did little to fill the space. “I’m not sure of the topic. Perhaps you could help me select one.”

The room was well lit with torches, and oil lanterns were mounted throughout. Chandeliers laden with unlit candles ran the length of the high ceiling. She frowned. Lighting for viewing the tapestry wasn’t a problem. “Do you want an indoor scene or outdoor?”

“Outdoor.”

“Woods or meadow?” “Woods.”

“People or no people?” “Some people.”

“So no crowds or celebrations?”

He shook his head, his eyes trained on her.

Kambry swallowed. His attention was intense, so she gazed back out at the room, her thoughts in a muddle. Someone was actually asking her opinion and listening for an answer.

What would enhance the room? She thought about her own experiences in Kavin. He could show the pathway through the woods, the yellow curricle trundling along with its matched black horses. There was the garden, and the castle on its stone edifice rising out of the mature trees.

“I can imagine several options.”

“You can?” He tipped his head. “Will you send me a list that I can consider? I’ve done little to alter the look of the castle.” His voice lost its enthusiasm. “It lacks so much.”

Kambry nodded, but she imagined his unfocused gaze was no longer seeing the room, but some other quality his kingdom was missing. “I can do that.”

He looked at her as if remembering she was there. “Thank you, Miss do Brode. That would be most helpful.” He put down the fork. “Well, I do believe we’re finished.”

He stood, putting out his hand.

She reached out, placing her hand in his and stood. “Prince Russal, given that you don’t embroider, what do you do in your leisure time?”

He kept her hand in his, his thumb turning circles on her skin. “Very little.”

Her skin tingled, and she forced herself to speak. “There must be something.”

“Miss do Brode, would you join me in the garden some day soon for a board game? I haven’t played in in a while, but I think I would like to.”

His words were hesitant, and she couldn’t help but be intrigued. “A board game?”

“Just us, and, of course, my guards. It’s just a game, but perhaps you’ve no interest.”

Again, the soft uncertainty of his tone wrenched at her.

She bit her lip. “I could.”

“I don’t know exactly when I’ll be free, but I will send someone for you if that is acceptable.”

More time with the prince left her uncertain. His moods were unpredictable. Sybil had said she needed to earn his trust. She couldn’t do that without spending time with him. “I’ll look forward to it.”

He released her hand and nodded at Cole who had stepped forward when they had left the table.

ole escorted her back to her room, walking attentively just in front of her. He guided her silently, but it wasn’t enough to quiet her review of the dinner with the prince. She rolled

the ring constantly round her thumb as they walked, mulling over their strange conversation and its even stranger reaction. Surely, he had been flustered nearly as often as he had caused her discomfiture.

She slumped her shoulders. Who was she fooling? Sometimes she flustered him, but he had far more control of the discourse than she did. What was he playing at? One moment flirting and the next blandly ignorant of her frustration.

But she had disconcerted him with her questions.

Sometimes she felt drawn to him. How she hated admitting that! The rest of the time she just wanted to strangle him. Now, that would have fulfilled his expectations. It was surprising the ring didn’t give that desire away. Had it given him away? Glowing yellow and so fiercely purple.

She shook her head, forgetting she was not alone, and caught Cole watching her.

When they stopped at her door, he said, “You didn’t eat enough tonight. Was it so unpleasant with the prince?”

“We disagree on certain topics.”

“And then you rehash them as you return to your chambers.” His tone seemed laced with amusement.

“The danger of wishing I were better at social repartee.” “Perhaps you should avoid those topics.”

A strangled laugh escaped her throat. “A suggestion I could best achieve if the prince allowed me to return to my home, but that is not an option.”

Cole took a deep breath. “Do you plan to come to the range tomorrow?”

She shrugged, gazing at her feet.

“Have you considered why I’m the one assigned to escort you to and from dinner with the prince, and Lessa comes by at breakfast and lunch? Gordy, your night guard, is one of the most trustworthy and capable in the guardhouse.” He bumped her shoulder. “Who do you think made sure you had friends close by?”

She had thought she was lucky, but now that she thought about it, the number of guards dedicated to protecting Kavin Castle were many. It was surprising that Lessa and Cole received the assignment. “Someone chose you specifically?”

Cole raised a finger in agreement. “That’s right. Marshal Burtram handpicked us. I know you probably think he doesn’t trust you or doesn’t miss you on the range, but that isn’t true. He’s trying to sort this out and keep you safe at the same time.”

So it’s just the prince that’s crazy. Burty couldn’t protect her from him. She considered sharing the thought with Cole and realized that if she stayed close to her friends, she could avoid trouble finding her. She missed them, and she didn’t want Teddy and Neal thinking she no longer cared about them.

“You said you need to know you have friends,” Cole said. “Your friends need to know you’re there for them, too.”

She looked up at Cole, noting concern in his eyes. “I’ll come tomorrow.”

“Lessa will probably be by to remind you to eat breakfast.”

“I’ll be ready for her.” He gestured at the door.

She opened it and peered inside the lit room, strangely fearful of entering.

“Would you like me to check your chambers?”