Chapter 10

It was late before she made it to her new chambers. The room she entered was larger than her first room in Kavin Castle.

The door closed behind her with an impossible-to-ignore snap. She suspected there would be a guard there all night.

The spacious room was decorated in shades of green and was longer than it was wide. A separate bedchamber sat to the left of the sitting room, which was lit with three separate oil lamps. What a waste. She put out two of them. Double doors led out onto a small balcony that overlooked another part of the garden.

The need for fresh air encouraged her to step outside. The stars shone brightly, and the moon, nearly full, illuminated the marble floor. She closed her eyes and took three calming breaths. The garden fragrances filled the night air and helped subdue the pounding in her head.

She glanced to the left and could see that she was within fifty feet of the prince’s tower and chambers, his windows softly lit. They could wave to each other from their balconies. Kambry strode back into the sitting room, locked the doors and vowed never to step outside again.

Unlike her other room, there was no fireplace, and it was chilly. Fatigue battled with frustration. Passing into her bedchamber revealed that another oil lamp by the bed had been lit. She strode back into the sitting room and doused the remaining lamp.

Someone had turned the bedsheets down and laid a nightgown out for her. A small vanity sat next to the doorway, and she cringed to see the long wooden box of jewelry had followed her. A wardrobe on the far right wall contained her clothes. She confirmed all the dresses were hanging within. On the inside door, a mirror hung.

“Now I have a mirror.” She shut the door with a resounding smack.

A delicate wrought-iron chair stood by the window, and she collapsed into it, pinching the bridge of her nose. She leaned her forehead on the glass pane, the coolness a pleasant contrast to her headache.

“None of this makes any sense. I am accused of having meetings with conspirators, yet I am placed in a room grander than my previous one. There was a hidden door in the other room, and this one has a separate bedchamber. Is the man mad?” She stood up, her hand holding the back of the chair as she wobbled. “I’m so tired.”

The woodwork around the room was ornate, and she stiffened. She had only his word that there was no hidden access to this chamber. His word counted for nothing.

She spent the next hour searching for an entry. Not finding one did not assuage her fear. What experience did she have with such things? There had been one apparently in her previous room, and she had been unaware of it. A folding screen in a corner supplied a low bench and privacy for dressing for bed. She snatched the nightgown and changed behind it. Leaving her dress and undergarments in a heap on the floor, the jewelry at the edge of the bench, she scurried to the bed and slung the covers over her.

Tossing a glare at the lamp still lit on the vanity, she rolled over and closed her eyes. The thoughts that had plagued her throughout her wait for her new quarters returned. Did they find someone in her room? Who was it? How did they know someone was there? Why had the prince been so certain that she was meeting someone?

Had he come into my room while I was sleeping?

She pulled the sheet over her head. Her heart pounded. Why did she feel so betrayed? She had believed he was sorry for his behavior. She had thought she’d seen a man she could trust and even like. She thought he was coming to trust her. That maybe, just maybe, she would get to go home. A yawn stifled her groan of frustration.

Kambry woke in the morning to a pounding on her door. Too groggy to comprehend where she was or who would be so rude, she yanked the covers over her head and screamed into the pillow when the pounding didn’t cease.

Silence followed, and her eyes sprang open. She pulled the covers down. The light streaming in the window dwarfed the feeble attempt of the oil lamp to best it. Oh. She sat up just as Lessa entered her room.

Lessa stopped at the end of her bed and folded her arms over her chest. “The marshal said you’d probably oversleep. Get up or you will miss breakfast, which means I will miss breakfast.”

Kambry flopped back down. “I don’t care.”

“If I had a room this nice, I might not care either.” Lessa turned around, examining the room. “What did you have to do to get a place this nice? I share a bunk room with eight other guards.”

Kambry glared at her and said, “I don’t want breakfast.

Go without me.”

“Can’t. Marshal Burtram said I was not to take no for an answer. So get dressed. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Kambry pressed her hands to her eyes until she heard the door to the hallway latch shut. “This must be the punishment. Treat me like I’m special, glare at me, accuse me of things I haven’t done, and badger me with unanswerable questions. Then he forces me to eat breakfast and act like nothing happened.”

It took less than the ten minutes provided to get dressed. She sat on the chair by the window after she hung up her clothes from last night and put away the jewelry.

Lessa returned, seeking her out in the bedroom. She stood in the doorway. “Don’t you think you should brush your hair?”

She ran her hands through her hair, finding knots and snarls.

“Yup, look at yourself.” Lessa pointed at the mirror above the vanity.

“Two mirrors.” Kambry laughed, hearing the strange panic that laced it.

Lessa eyed her, grabbed the brush off the vanity and handed it to her. “You want to talk about anything?”

“No.” Kambry went to the mirror and brushed her hair quickly. Her reflection looked harassed. She straightened her shoulders and braided her hair to the side. She had no hair tie to hold it in place. Apparently princes only knew women wore dresses and jewelry. They did not understand all the other things a woman also needed, like hair ties and consistent actions. Her shoulders drooped again, and she forced them back. With a determined twist of her braid, she made a bun and secured it with her comb.

“Not planning on running around the archery range today, huh?”

Kambry shook her head. Even she wasn’t sure if it was a response to Lessa’s question or a commentary on everything that had happened the night before.

“Let’s go?” Lessa asked.

Kambry nodded and lead the way into the sitting room.

“Now that you’re awake, I should tell you that Marshal Burtram said to remind you to note what you need for the illustration you promised the prince you would work on.”

Kambry stared at her then looked around the room. The book was on the table by the door along with a quill, ink bottle and slip of paper. She shivered with the thought that someone had placed them there during the night. She’d forgotten she had dropped the book. Perhaps they came in with her dresses, and she hadn’t noticed them. That was a much better explanation. She opened the marked page and wrote a quick list. She dusted the sheet with a sprinkling of sand, shook it and handed it to Lessa.

“I’ll pass this to another guard to take to the prince,” Lessa said. “There seemed to be some hurry about it.”

“Well, I’m ready,” she said and strode out the door.

Lessa caught up to her. “It’s funny I have to escort you. You know the way, but Marshal Burtram said you would oversleep. How did he know that? Were you practicing your aim late last night?”

Kambry perused Lessa’s face, curious if Lessa was aware of the evening events or curious. Nothing but honest teasing was readable in her expression. “I dined with the prince and his friends. I suppose we were up late.”

“Arrow retriever by day, dinner companion to the prince by night. You lead a very eclectic life, Kambry.”

You have no idea. “It would seem so.”

Kambry surprised Lessa when after breakfast she stated she wanted to return to her room.

“You’re not even going to practice shooting? You’ll disappoint Burty.”

Burty was another person she didn’t want to face today. His willingness to suspect her of being part of a conspiracy last night galled.

“I want to get started on the illustration.”

“Give me a moment. I want to have a word with Marshal Burtram. Then we’ll go.”

Kambry exited the door to the mess hall and stepped aside to avoid having to interact with other guards. Neal and Teddy waved at her and ran with another boy for the archery range.

Anger filled her chest. Prince Russal had spoiled her joy of helping on the range and gaining skill. For a moment, she thought she might stay. She could take her hair down and just let it fly about.

Lessa returned. “Okay, let’s go, my hermit friend.” “Hermit?”

“You plan to stay in your room all day, I bet.” She hesitated. “I can tell you’re unhappy, and the marshal didn’t ask why you weren’t staying, but he seemed sad to hear it.

What’s going on? I thought you loved spending time with the archers and practicing with your bow.”

“I do. Today, I just want to work on the drawing.” She headed toward the gate.

“We’re friends, right?”

Kambry blinked to avoid tearing up. She had thought they were friends, but nothing seemed certain in Kavin. Even their new friendship could turn into suspicion at the flip of a latch. It took a couple minutes to get her throat to loosen. She said, “I like to think we’re friends.”

Lessa nodded and marched alongside her down the corridor of the castle.

“I am a scribe, and this is an opportunity to use my skills.

If I will live here, I should pursue work in my field.”

“So no more doing as you please, huh?” They stopped at her door. A guard stood quietly at attention. Lessa gazed at him but said nothing to him. “I’ll leave you to your work.” She waited for Kambry to enter.

Kambry nodded at Lessa and closed her door.

She sat at the vanity with the book open to the page Amily had marked with the thin blue ribbon. There wasn’t much room on the narrow tabletop. She had only just started making notes on her approach to replicating the illustration when a knock at her door interrupted her.

A page, gangly and grinning, stood holding a wooden case while a servant stood behind him next to a writing table of dark walnut with delicate curved legs. The guard at her door nodded at her. She stared at him a moment, recognizing him from the mess hall. He wasn’t the same fellow from earlier.

The page handed her the case. “His Highness asked me to deliver these to you. We are also moving this worktable into your room if that meets with your approval?”

Kambry eyed the guard, then nodded at the page and stepped aside. “Come in.” She took the case. The boy and the

male servant shuffled the table inside, carefully avoiding bumping it on the doorjamb.

“We were told to set it by the window in your bedroom,” the page said. The two stood just inside the room and waited. “May we? We can wait if you wish. It’s not heavy, just awkward getting through doors.” He winked at her.

“Go ahead. It’s just through that door.” She waved her arm, and they shuffled to her room and placed it under the window after moving her chair out of the way. The page reset the chair at the table. The prince had wasted no time getting her setup to complete the work for his friend.

“Will this do?” he asked. “We were told if you thought there was a better place for it then we would put it there.”

Funny how emotionless she felt. It was as if she had built a barrier until she had the privacy to release shock or anger or terror even. “No, that’s fine. Thank you.” Her words sounded hollow to her.

The page dusted his hands. “Everything’s in the case, but if you need something more, give a note to the guard,” he said. “I’ll stop by and check in the afternoon.”

The guard at her door, of course. She smiled at both of them, a strange automatic response. “That’s very nice of you.”

“Prince Russal said to make sure you had everything you needed.”

“How very kind of him to take a personal interest.” She swallowed at the tightness just beginning to creep into her throat, hurried to the door and held it for them.

Closing it, she turned to face the room. So he knows the layout of the furnishings in my room. How else would he know to suggest where to place the desk? A shiver ran up her spine, and it took several minutes to settle the fast pace of her heart. Had he watched her through some peephole in the room and known she had begun her work on the illustration?

It was several minutes before she realized she had not moved. The wooden case was sitting on the worktable. She remembered the page had taken it from her and placed it there.

Stepping up to it, she gingerly flipped the clasped and lifted the lid.

The five inks were in small glass bottles set in holes on a swivel base that tipped so they sat at an angle. Clips held quills, brushes, burnishers and a fine-edged knife in a neat row. Under a lid, she found the calipers, ruler, protractor and compass she would need once she began laying out the image. In a separate cutout sat a bottle of glue for adhering the gold leaf. The last item she noted was a nub of dark chalk wrapped in tight linen.

She lifted out a flat box. When she opened it, her fingers tingled with excitement: gold leaf lay in layers of parchment. She set it back in place and wiped her hands on her dress. It would be some while before she made use of that. The thought of working on the illustration pressed all other concerns out of her mind and brought a sense of peace.

The lid of the box contained three angled shelves which held sheets of various thicknesses of vellum. She had everything she would need to copy the favored illustration. The tools, materials and inks were of the finest quality, grades higher than what she had been used to using. She slid out a vellum sheet and a hard backer board and set them on the table.

The linen-wrapped chalk fit her hand comfortably and took her away from her fears and frustrations as she set to work to lay out the grid. More than an hour passed before the lines that broke the vellum into manageable sections satisfied her. Her fingers brushed the fine calfskin, flawless and pale.

She sat back and took a breath. The book still lay open on her vanity. It was time to lay the outline of the image. She retrieved the book, returned to her seat and brought out the tools she would need: calipers, compass, ruler and protractor. They practically sang in her hand, and she hummed as she worked back and forth from the original to its potential copy.

A knocking at the door brought her immediate world back to her senses. The sun was going down. She’d been working in

a half-lit space, leaned over the vellum, straining to see her light strokes of chalk.

She stretched her back and twisted from side to side. She had skipped lunch entirely and was famished. Who could be at her door?

Dinner with the prince!

She rushed to answer it. Cole stood appraising her. What did he hope to note? “Have you been in your room all day?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll need a few minutes to get ready.”

“The prince said to tell you he needs to delay dinner half an hour, so you have time.” His smile revealed he was pleased to give her some news she would be happy to have.

She nodded and closed the door. Before she had even turned to hurry to her bedroom to change, a thought stilled her. Had the prince checked on her and seen she was still working? Was his delay a way to prompt her to get ready?

She shook her head. If she spent all her time worrying about him spying on her, she would be unable to hold the quill without it shaking. Maybe his opinion of her didn’t matter, but Amily’s did. She glared at all the walls around the sitting room. “I hate you, Prince Russal.”

She strode to the bedchamber and selected a dress and jewels to match.

Dressed and her hair done, she returned to the door. Cole stepped forward as soon as she opened it.

“You don’t waste time, Miss do Brode.” “You used to call me Kammy.”

His face flushed, and he looked away. “His Highness said to treat you with all respect due a lady of the first order. I thought I may have offended you.”

She grasped his arm. “I need to know I have friends.” He patted her hand. “You do.”

“Miss do Brode?” said the new guard standing at her door. He grimaced. “I’ve not called you anything else. The master weaver came by to ask if you were coming to help on the looms today. I told him you were working on a project for the prince. I didn’t wish to disturb you.”

“Thank you. I was busy today.” Her stomach growled.

“Too busy to eat,” said Cole. “It is fortunate they sent me to bring you to dinner or you might have missed it, too.” He gestured down the hall and waited for her to start walking before joining her.

Noting they headed in the opposite direction, she said, “We aren’t going to the prince’s chamber?”

“You will dine in the great hall tonight.” “Oh.”

They arrived nearly at the same time the prince stepped from behind the screen at the end of the hall. The trestle tables sat empty at the far side of the audience chamber. A small table for two awaited them in a cozy alcove.

Cole guided her to the table, and she curtsied.

The prince sat down and gestured for her to do the same.

He nodded at Cole who stepped away.

Kambry folded her hands in her lap and sat quietly while the servants brought out the first course.

When they were alone again, she said. “Is the weather to turn tonight?”

“It is fine out, actually.” He answered stiffly.

“Then why are we not dining on your balcony?”

Prince Russal leaned back in his chair, and his blue eyes searched her face. “I thought you would be more comfortable in a public space, and I wanted you to see the guard but still have our privacy.”

Kambry glanced at Cole, far enough away not to hear their conversation unless she raised her voice. She had demanded the previous night for the guard to stand at her

elbow when she dined with the prince. She tried for a moment to build up the courage to demand it again, then shook her head. Who was she fooling? Cole must side with his prince. Even as a witness, his job was not to protect her.

“Do you wish to have Cole stand closer?”

“What difference would it make? I am at your mercy no matter the effort to make me comfortable in my cage.”

He scooted his seat closer, set his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. He seemed prepared to argue, then set his jaw and said, “You need to eat. You will find the cherry compote delicious.”

So he knew she had not eaten. Her hand shook as she picked up the spoon. She stared at the traitorous limb and forced it to steadiness.

He did not eat until she had eaten several mouthfuls.

Was that politeness or was he waiting for signs of poison? She put down the spoon. She had to get a grip on herself or make peace. The silence of the room eased some tension, but she was certain any conversation between them would degenerate into an argument.

When the second course came, a thick pea soup, he sat back again in his seat.

“You do not improve your standing by being silent.”

So much for avoidance of argument. “I had no standing before. I do not see how I can either rise or fall in your estimation. Going by our past interactions, I cannot imagine any appearance of doing so would last over ten minutes.”

He sat stiffly, his fingers toying with his soup spoon. “Amily and Tomo will dine with us again before they leave. I hope you will speak with them kindly.”

“I will respond in the same manner in which they treat me. As for you, I hold out no hope that I will find conversation worthy of interaction.”

He sighed and ate his soup. Lamb replaced the empty bowl. He caught her eye and spun his fork in a circle on the

table. “Have you received the materials you requested?”

“They arrived earlier today,” she said. “I’m surprised you didn’t use a hidden door to deliver them.”

“I told you there is no hidden passage to that room.”

Kambry was looking down at her hands, refusing to hold eye contact with him. The ring on her thumb flashed yellow then returned to the steady purple glow. Yellow?

If she lied or was deceitful, it would flash green. Honesty was purple. What is yellow? Anger? She was angry and upset, but she had been angry many times. Had she been watching her hand when she had yelled at the prince last night? She didn’t think so.

“Miss do Brode, did you hear me?”

She kept her eyes on her hand. “You said there was no hidden passage to my room. I don’t believe you.”

“I said that, but I just now asked about the tools for the drawing. Are they satisfactory? Will they do the task?”

“They’re lovely,” she said and then caught herself. She did not want to sound appreciative. “They are adequate to the task.”

His lips turned up on one side. “Too late. I now know they are lovely.”

She grimaced at him and returned to eating. “How is the lamb?”

Kambry swallowed. “Lovely,” she growled. The ring remained purple, not a hint of change. Yet she could feel the anger tightening her neck and shoulders. So anger didn’t affect the ring.

“As lovely as the tools or slightly less lovely?”

“I do not wish to play word games with you, Your Highness.” She raised her eyes to glare at him. “Your whims are unreliable.” She dropped her gaze and speared a piece of the lamb.

“I do not wish to be unreliable.”

The ring flashed yellow again. Kambry held still. “Why do you alternate from friendly to unfriendly, Prince Russal?” She stared at the ring.

He was silent, and she waited for his reply, but none came. Finally, she looked up at him. He was eating, his movements relaxed. Disinterested. Too disinterested?

He’d mentioned previously that she was part of an important plan. “What do you plan for me?”

The fork did not cease its steady rise and fall to his mouth. “Now you won’t talk. Why not?”

He paused and smiled. “The lamb is delicious. You should continue to eat before it gets cold.”

She stared at him. His face was arresting, even though he held his expression bland. “Why don’t you wear a crown? Don’t you have one?”

“I have one. As I told you before, I wear it for important occasions only. Crowns are not comfortable. They are symbols of power that a simple head cannot hope to hold up all day, every day.”

“So power does not drive you.”

“The good of my people does,” he said, his gaze honest and direct.

“But you must tax them, decide for them, and throw them into battle when attacked.”

“All those things.”

His honesty made his deep voice more appealing than his suspicion did. It warmed and softened. She wanted him to keep talking. “How are those actions for the good of them?”

“The taxes help keep this princedom strong.” He leaned forward, his eyes bright with interest and sincerity. “It makes it possible for surpluses to be stored and for trade to occur. I do not allow my people to starve, but I also do not allow them to

be idle. I lead because I know how. We fight together when the need arises.”

Not once did the ring go yellow while he spoke. “So there is no hidden passage to my room?”

His shoulders slumped. “Miss do Brode, I dislike repeating myself. Believe me or not.” He waved away a servant who came to take his plate.

Was yellow a sign of the prince lying to her? Did the ring respond to others as well? Was that why Sybil had been surprised to see it on her hand?

“Have you fallen in love with me yet?” Did I really ask that question?

His hands stilled where they rested on the table. “Circumstances have made that rather a difficult goal.”

Why didn’t he say no? “Have you achieved it despite that difficulty?”

“I find you an interesting young woman.”

“Hmm. I find dogs interesting, but it hardly makes them a worthy lover. You do not love me, Prince Russal?” She could not believe her boldness, nor could she drag it back. Something needed exposure.

He leaned across the table, so close she felt his breath on her arm. “Now you play with words, Miss do Brode.”

“It is only fitting. You chose the game. I merely play to hold my position.” She leaned closer, placing her hands between them, one overlapping the other, but not shielding the ring from her view. “Are you falling in love with me yet?”

“No,” he whispered. Flash of yellow.

“You must try harder if you wish to catch me up in that net,” he said.

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.