Fantastical
Page 20
His eyes cut to me. “You like being a princess?”
I sat back and threw out a hand. “Of course I do. That question is absurd. Any girl wants to be a princess. And in this world, I am one.”
“Well, you are one but you aren’t.”
I blinked as my happy, fairytale balloon deflated. “I am one but I’m not?”
“Love, you live in a house, it’s a nice house but you live there because you choose to live there. You warmed my bed like you warm my hides, you’d live with me in my castle.”
My eyes rounded and I breathed, “You have a castle?”
“Bloody hell, here we go again,” he muttered, staring at my face.
The proprietress arrived with wide, shallow pewter bowls filled with divine-smelling, delicious-looking, steaming stew and a cutting board resting precariously on her forearm topped with a fluffy loaf a brown bread, a knife stuck in it and a small ramekin of creamy butter at the side.
And when she did, I looked up and informed her, jabbing my finger at Tor, “He owns a castle.”
Her body jerked, her eyes shot to me then she dipped down in an awkward curtsy while still balancing the bowls and board.
“Yes, your grace,” she muttered, her eyes moving to my shoulder.
“Isn’t that cool?” I asked her and her eyes flitted to me then back to my shoulder.
“Cora,” Tor warned in a low voice.
I turned to him and cried, “Well it is, Tor!”
“Gods,” he muttered and I finally noticed the woman and her burden.
“Here,” I reached out, “let me help you with that.”
“Gods,” Tor muttered again as I took a bowl from her and set it in front of Tor.
“My,” she whispered and I looked up at her, smiled and divested her of the bread board.
“Heya,” I belatedly greeted.
“Erm… your grace,” she mumbled.
“This bread looks fantastic! And the stew smells superb!” I noted as I took the last bowl and put it in front of myself. “And what’s this I’m drinking?”
“Cider,” she whispered.
“It… is…” I leaned closer to her, “awesome!”
“Erm, I’m pleased you think so, your grace,” she replied.
“I totally do!”
“We brew it from apples from our own orchards.”
“Well then, you’re clearly masters at it.” She stared at me like I had three heads so I went on, exclaiming, “I can’t wait to eat!”
“I hope you find it to your liking,” she mumbled, her eyes slowly lighting as she looked at me.
“It can’t not be. If it smells that good, I’m certain it tastes heavenly.”
“We’ve had few complaints,” she informed me, her voice getting stronger, her lips tipping up.
“I bet not,” I replied and finally looked around to see the inside of the pub was as appealing as the outside. I looked back at her. “You have a lovely place here.”
She bobbed again and pink came to her cheeks. “Thank you, your grace.”
I looked back around, noted the pub was filling and my eyes went to her. “Sorry, I’m keeping you from your duties.”
“It’s my honor, your grace.”
Wow.
I smiled at her. “If you get a quiet moment, get yourself a drink and come sit with us,” I invited.
“Bloody hell,” Tor muttered under his breath.
“No funning?” the proprietress breathed, so shocked at my invitation, she didn’t hear Tor.
I shot an irritated Tor a look then rearranged my face to smile at the woman. “No funning. I’m Cora,” I extended my hand to her and she jumped back like it hissed and bared fangs. “It’s okay,” I encouraged her.
She studied me then timidly lifted her hand and her fingers closed around mine as I felt a murmur run through the crowd.
“Liza,” she whispered as my fingers gave hers a friendly squeeze. “Liza Calhoon. My husband Rory and I own this pub.”
“Lovely to meet you,” I let her go and gestured to Noctorno. “My husband, Prince Noctorno.”
Tor glowered at me but composed his features to a benign (but still gorgeous) smile when he turned and inclined his head to Liza.
She bobbed again, dipped her chin low, stayed bobbed down and muttered reverently, “Your grace.”
“Rise,” he murmured and she did.
Uh… wow!
“I’m honored, to be sure,” she told him.
He inclined his head again.
She grinned at him then she grinned at me then she said, “Enjoy your meals.”
“I’m sure we will!” I assured her, her grin turned into a smile and then she twirled and scurried excitedly away.
The minute she did, the crowd’s low murmur rose and this was likely because the future king was in their midst but I didn’t care. My mind was awhirl.
I was a princess. My husband lived in a castle. And there was a huge amount of food right in front of me.
All was right in my world.
I tucked in.
I wasn’t wrong; the food was fan-freaking-tastic. I snarfed down a half dozen spoonfuls of scrumptious stew then stopped in order to cut into the bread.
“You want bread?” I asked Tor.
“Yes,” he answered.
I sliced while asking, “Can I see your castle?”
“You’ve seen it.”
I dipped out a huge wodge of butter and started spreading it before I looked at him. “Okay, then, can I see it again?”
He eyed me. Then he said, “We’d be safe there.”
I stopped spreading butter and stared at him. “We would?”
“The Shrew cannot practice on sacred land. All royal land is sacred land.”
Was he serious?
“Are you serious?”
He was chewing. I waited for him to swallow then he said, “Yes.”
I stared at him again, counted, got to two then exploded, “For God’s sake, Tor! If we’re safe in your blinkety blank castle, why’d you take me to a cave?”
His eyes narrowed and he commanded, “Quiet.”
“No,” I shot back, dropping his bread and the knife. “I want to know.”
“Lower your voice.”
“Dude, you took me to a cave!”
His brows knitted ominously and he growled, “I told you, I do not like this name.”
“I don’t care!” I returned heatedly and, might I add, loudly.
Mistake. Big one.
I sat back and threw out a hand. “Of course I do. That question is absurd. Any girl wants to be a princess. And in this world, I am one.”
“Well, you are one but you aren’t.”
I blinked as my happy, fairytale balloon deflated. “I am one but I’m not?”
“Love, you live in a house, it’s a nice house but you live there because you choose to live there. You warmed my bed like you warm my hides, you’d live with me in my castle.”
My eyes rounded and I breathed, “You have a castle?”
“Bloody hell, here we go again,” he muttered, staring at my face.
The proprietress arrived with wide, shallow pewter bowls filled with divine-smelling, delicious-looking, steaming stew and a cutting board resting precariously on her forearm topped with a fluffy loaf a brown bread, a knife stuck in it and a small ramekin of creamy butter at the side.
And when she did, I looked up and informed her, jabbing my finger at Tor, “He owns a castle.”
Her body jerked, her eyes shot to me then she dipped down in an awkward curtsy while still balancing the bowls and board.
“Yes, your grace,” she muttered, her eyes moving to my shoulder.
“Isn’t that cool?” I asked her and her eyes flitted to me then back to my shoulder.
“Cora,” Tor warned in a low voice.
I turned to him and cried, “Well it is, Tor!”
“Gods,” he muttered and I finally noticed the woman and her burden.
“Here,” I reached out, “let me help you with that.”
“Gods,” Tor muttered again as I took a bowl from her and set it in front of Tor.
“My,” she whispered and I looked up at her, smiled and divested her of the bread board.
“Heya,” I belatedly greeted.
“Erm… your grace,” she mumbled.
“This bread looks fantastic! And the stew smells superb!” I noted as I took the last bowl and put it in front of myself. “And what’s this I’m drinking?”
“Cider,” she whispered.
“It… is…” I leaned closer to her, “awesome!”
“Erm, I’m pleased you think so, your grace,” she replied.
“I totally do!”
“We brew it from apples from our own orchards.”
“Well then, you’re clearly masters at it.” She stared at me like I had three heads so I went on, exclaiming, “I can’t wait to eat!”
“I hope you find it to your liking,” she mumbled, her eyes slowly lighting as she looked at me.
“It can’t not be. If it smells that good, I’m certain it tastes heavenly.”
“We’ve had few complaints,” she informed me, her voice getting stronger, her lips tipping up.
“I bet not,” I replied and finally looked around to see the inside of the pub was as appealing as the outside. I looked back at her. “You have a lovely place here.”
She bobbed again and pink came to her cheeks. “Thank you, your grace.”
I looked back around, noted the pub was filling and my eyes went to her. “Sorry, I’m keeping you from your duties.”
“It’s my honor, your grace.”
Wow.
I smiled at her. “If you get a quiet moment, get yourself a drink and come sit with us,” I invited.
“Bloody hell,” Tor muttered under his breath.
“No funning?” the proprietress breathed, so shocked at my invitation, she didn’t hear Tor.
I shot an irritated Tor a look then rearranged my face to smile at the woman. “No funning. I’m Cora,” I extended my hand to her and she jumped back like it hissed and bared fangs. “It’s okay,” I encouraged her.
She studied me then timidly lifted her hand and her fingers closed around mine as I felt a murmur run through the crowd.
“Liza,” she whispered as my fingers gave hers a friendly squeeze. “Liza Calhoon. My husband Rory and I own this pub.”
“Lovely to meet you,” I let her go and gestured to Noctorno. “My husband, Prince Noctorno.”
Tor glowered at me but composed his features to a benign (but still gorgeous) smile when he turned and inclined his head to Liza.
She bobbed again, dipped her chin low, stayed bobbed down and muttered reverently, “Your grace.”
“Rise,” he murmured and she did.
Uh… wow!
“I’m honored, to be sure,” she told him.
He inclined his head again.
She grinned at him then she grinned at me then she said, “Enjoy your meals.”
“I’m sure we will!” I assured her, her grin turned into a smile and then she twirled and scurried excitedly away.
The minute she did, the crowd’s low murmur rose and this was likely because the future king was in their midst but I didn’t care. My mind was awhirl.
I was a princess. My husband lived in a castle. And there was a huge amount of food right in front of me.
All was right in my world.
I tucked in.
I wasn’t wrong; the food was fan-freaking-tastic. I snarfed down a half dozen spoonfuls of scrumptious stew then stopped in order to cut into the bread.
“You want bread?” I asked Tor.
“Yes,” he answered.
I sliced while asking, “Can I see your castle?”
“You’ve seen it.”
I dipped out a huge wodge of butter and started spreading it before I looked at him. “Okay, then, can I see it again?”
He eyed me. Then he said, “We’d be safe there.”
I stopped spreading butter and stared at him. “We would?”
“The Shrew cannot practice on sacred land. All royal land is sacred land.”
Was he serious?
“Are you serious?”
He was chewing. I waited for him to swallow then he said, “Yes.”
I stared at him again, counted, got to two then exploded, “For God’s sake, Tor! If we’re safe in your blinkety blank castle, why’d you take me to a cave?”
His eyes narrowed and he commanded, “Quiet.”
“No,” I shot back, dropping his bread and the knife. “I want to know.”
“Lower your voice.”
“Dude, you took me to a cave!”
His brows knitted ominously and he growled, “I told you, I do not like this name.”
“I don’t care!” I returned heatedly and, might I add, loudly.
Mistake. Big one.
