The prince took a small bite from the pastry, his eyes brightening either from the treat or the question. “My favorite subject. Strategy. Perhaps we could talk about it, you and I. I would like that.”
“So would I,” Ransom said. The ache in his heart had eased just a little. The youngster made him think of earlier days, back when his cares weren’t so heavy.
The prince and his tutor left, and Ransom sat alone, deep in thought. He didn’t smell the crisped bread and bubbling qinnamon until the undercook slid a plate in front of his nose.
He looked at her in surprise, since the qinnamon spice was a rarity.
She grinned at him. “I remembered, my lord. You and Lady Claire . . . we haven’t forgotten you.”
The kind action made his throat thick with gratitude. It was a delicacy he and Claire had enjoyed together just after their betrothal—her way of sharing something sweet with him, just as he’d shared the penuche with her.
“Thank you,” he said. “I was a child here at the palace.”
“I think Siena was the cook back then,” said the woman kindly. “She was Gaultic.”
Ransom nodded, inhaling the delicious scent of the qinnamon torrere. His mouth watered.
“Those boys of yours are a pleasure,” said the undercook. “They sneak in here all the time with the princess.”
“Do they now?” Ransom couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride in his boys.
“Oh, they drive the Espion to distraction. They’re good lads, Lord Ransom. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. Now eat it before it gets too cold.”
Ransom enjoyed the toasted bread with qinnamon, feeling less alone than when he’d entered the kitchen. He had Claire. He had his family. And though they’d been thrust apart for a season, he felt hopeful that they would be reunited.
His wish was granted sooner than he would have thought, for Willem and Devon and a blond-haired little girl came running up from behind him. Their arrival surprised him, for he was sitting facing the entrance to the kitchen.
Willem grinned. “Sorry it took so long to lose him. Aldous is warier than some of the others, but he’s still an eejit.”
The little girl, whom Ransom assumed was the princess Léanore because of her decadent dress and her resemblance to her mother, looked at him with inquisitive and mischievous eyes.
He turned, seeing no other way into the kitchen. “How did you—?”
“The Espion tunnels,” Devon said proudly. “We know them all, I should think. One goes all the way to the king’s room! We’ve spied on him many times.”
“Papa doesn’t know,” Léanore said with a grin. She was quite a bit younger than the boys, smaller, but her amber eyes glowed with liveliness.
“Have you been to the tunnels, Papa?” Willem asked.
“I have,” Ransom answered. “But I don’t know them as well as you, it seems.”
“Cecily taught us,” Devon said in a whisper.
Léanore’s eyes brightened at the name. “I like her.”
They began to regale him with tales of their adventures together, interrupting one another in their haste to share a story or correct a detail from it. Ransom chuckled to himself, pleased with the strength of the connection between the three, which reminded him of his own childhood with Claire and King Gervase’s son. Sometimes the boys and the princess were caught and scolded by the Espion. But they escaped censure more often than not and had learned a great deal about the intrigues of the palace through their defiance.
“What of your brother, Prince Devon?” Ransom asked the princess. “Do you leave him out?”
“He’s too afraid,” Léanore said with scorn. “He doesn’t like the dark at all. He came a few times, but he’s always with his tutors, and they never want him to have fun.”
“He’s boring,” Willem said with a shrug.
“We offered loads of times,” Devon insisted. “But I think he stopped after Léanore fell into the cistern water.”
“You pushed me!” Léanore said, shoving his arm.
“You were following too close!”
“No I wasn’t!”
Willem started laughing. “She was so wet! The queen was vexed that day.”
The princess stomped her foot. “I didn’t tell on you, though.”
“If you had, we wouldn’t have let you come anymore,” Devon pointed out.
“The prince was scared half to death. The water wasn’t very deep. It was just really cold.”
“I should say,” said Léanore. She put her little hand on Ransom’s arm. “Have you been down into the cistern?”
“I have,” Ransom answered. He shuddered at the memory, for seeing the cistern waters in the dark had affected him strangely. It had made him feel as if another existence lay superimposed over his own, the two rippling into each other.
He shook off the thought, returning his attention to the children. The camaraderie between the three of them was endearing, but he couldn’t help but see evidence of the queen in her daughter’s face.
Jon-Landon had children of his own. How could he have ordered the death of his nephew, who wasn’t much older than these children? The thought continued to sicken him.
“Aldous is coming,” Devon suddenly said.
Willem stiffened, and the three children scrambled toward the wall. The princess touched one of the stones, and a section of the wall opened up, revealing a dark passage. The three vanished into it, shutting the door behind them just as Aldous stomped into the kitchen, his face flushed.
He stood at the threshold, nostrils flaring, his bushy eyebrows twitching. His gaze ran over the kitchen, but the staff pretended nothing was amiss. Ransom saw one of them struggle not to smile. He remained at his table, gazing nonchalantly at the slender man who had again lost his wards.
Aldous huffed, turned around, and stomped away.
The undercook came back to Ransom with a plate of bread, fruit, and some cheese.
“Still hungry, Lord Ransom?” she asked him with a wink.
Ransom lay on his bed in the dark, hands behind his neck, listening to the creaking timbers. Occasionally he heard a set of boots pass by his door, but they never lingered. It was just the night watch. Even with that knowledge, he couldn’t sleep. It didn’t matter that he’d been allowed his old room, where he’d spent many nights in the past. It felt like a cage. Still, his first day of bondage had not been as horrible as he’d feared. He’d seen his children, which had been heartening, and all day long he’d met people who were sympathetic to his plight. Lord Kinghorn’s son, Dalian, had even asked to meet him in the training yard the next morning. In fact, he felt he had more friends at the palace than the king.
Eventually drowsiness set in, and he fell into a light sleep, which was interrupted when he heard his door handle turn. His eyes shot open, and he reached for the sword that wasn’t there, but his Fountain magic assured him that he wasn’t in danger. The door opened, and Cecily came inside from the darkened hall and shut the door.
“Are you awake?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Ransom said, sitting up. “It’s after midnight I should say.”