Chapter 34

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It had been a long time indeed since I'd eaten on proper porcelain, to the tune of tinkling silver and the flickering of slender candles. All that was missing was music, though Frederico's wife was doing a good job of filling the silence on her own. She fluttered about the room, in a dress that dripped with lace and whose skirts were so wide that she nearly upended the servants at every turn. She cooed about the children and served Frederico with more food than three men could eat, a cloud of orange flower perfume in her wake.

Genevieve Desjardins, the countess of Belmont, was the antithesis to every Ardalonian woman I'd ever met. She wore her kindness on her sleeve, doling out hugs and air kisses to everyone who sat at her ornate, polished table. She dipped a perfect, courtly curtsey to me before I could stop her, and it seemed her only desire for the evening was for everyone to be well-fed.

"Eat up, Rafa mon cher," she chided, as she spooned another ladle of boeuf bourguignon onto his place before handing the gilt silver tureen back to the servant trailing her. "When you eat, you encourage the children.Vas-y."

"The food is delicious," I offered as she fluttered past me, depositing another warm, crusty roll onto my side plate.

Her face split with a smile that exposed her teeth – crooked, but white. "You flatter me, your Highness. Though I cannot claim such a compliment for myself. I will pass it on to my cook, so she may know she has served and satisfied three royal houses."

"Sit down," Frederico said in Ardal, when she did another tour of the table to bring him a fourth roll. He took her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap, at which she squealed in delight. He continued, "All this fussing is going to make my commanders go soft."

"All this food will make your commanders go soft," Beatriz said, her eyes closed in ecstasy as she devoured another morsel of beef from her dish. "I miss Vareinne. Such delicious food."

"Even better wine." Rafael agreed.

No poison taster, I'd almost put in, remembering the first time I'd eaten beside Beatriz. But my gaze had shifted to Rafael, whose own meal cooled as he coaxed little Gabriele into eating. The boy was seated atop a stack of cushions so he could reach the table and still he only stared, silent, and obediently opened when Rafael approached his mouth with a spoonful of stew.

"You should never have left, sister," Genevieve replied, in her accented Ardal. "Think of all the messes we could have avoided." Her eyes darted to me for the barest of moments before she pivoted around to beckon for someone to refill Frederico's glass.

Finally, some dinner talk and courtier's games I could wrap my head around.

I took a sip of wine, savoring the deep notes of currant and chocolate. "What messes, comtesse?" I asked innocently, my gaze a keen challenge.

"The mess your brother left for me," Frederico responded, his hand tightening around Genevieve's waist.

To her credit, the countess did not flinch at my words. Nor did she cower from holding my gaze. All she did was still for a moment, tilting her head.

"Prince Andrew's story is so romantic though." Genevieve sighed, leaning back against Frederico, who was glaring at me over the countess' shoulder. "How can you fault a man for moving the Earth and the moon for his beloved? I know you'd do the same, Coco."

I nearly sputtered on my wine at the nickname. But no one seemed to notice, because as soon as Frederico's face had softened at Genevieve's words, she erupted into another whirlwind of activity, insisting that Rafael's uncles' empty plates be replenished. The two older men had simply watched her flutter about the room, incredulous and silent. After all, they'd only learned of Frederico's marriage fairly recently, and the woman hosting us was not at all the kind of woman I'd imagined Frederico would marry in secret, against his father's wishes. I'd assumed he'd have picked some brooding, severe woman cut from the same cloth as he. Instead, he'd chosen a kindly butterfly.

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