She’d never been in this room, even when she lived here before. The rectangular table in the center of the room sat eight, but only two places had been set, right across from each other. The curtains were drawn back from the two large windows, letting in the last wisps of sunlight and showing off a view of the side gardens.
Two people Em didn’t know stood at the end of the table, a tall, slim man and a pretty older woman, each of them holding a basket. They straightened as she walked into the room.
The door to her right swung open and Cas stepped out, changed into nicer clothes than the last time she’d seen him, but already rumpled. One side of his shirt stuck out of his pants. She stifled a giggle.
He smiled at her, then looked at the man and woman. “This is Queen Emelina. Em, this is Kenton and Lucinda. They own the largest bakery in Royal City. They made some cheese bread for me, and they brought you a present as well. I asked them to stay to deliver it personally.”
Lucinda crossed the room. She held it out to Em. “I made you some berry tarts, Your Majesty.”
Em took them slowly. “For me?”
“For you,” Lucinda said with a nervous laugh. “My children love them. I thought you might like to try them, since berries don’t grow in Ruina.”
“I—thank you,” Em stuttered. “That’s very kind of you.”
“They were made in the kitchen here,” Lucinda said. “I know there are strict rules about what you and King Casimir can eat.”
She didn’t know of any rules, but it had already crossed her mind that the tarts could be poisoned. She smiled and thanked them again.
Lucinda and her husband bowed their heads and left the room, a guard shutting the door behind them.
“She made me tarts,” Em said to Cas, holding them up.
“I know,” he said, his voice full of amusement. He crossed the room and kissed her gently.
“Are there rules about what you can eat?”
“Yes, since I was poisoned my food is strictly monitored. So is yours.” He pointed to the basket in her hand. “It was all prepared here, with ingredients from our kitchens, under guard supervision.”
“Wonderful.” She put the basket on the table and tried to suppress a grin as she looked at him. “Come here.”
“What?” He looked down at his clothes.
“You’re all rumpled.” She tucked the escaped edge of shirt back into his waistband. The first time she’d met him, she’d thought it was strange he was so rumpled and dusty, especially compared to his perfectly pressed parents. It had momentarily distracted her from the rage and terror she’d felt stepping out of that carriage as Mary.
Cas looked her up and down. “I know this dress. I unbuttoned this dress for you once.”
Em pressed her hands to the waist of her dress with a laugh. “I thought I remembered something nice about this dress.”
“That was back when you still hated me.”
“You were already wearing me down, honestly.” She rose up on her toes and kissed him. “I hope you’ll unbutton it for me again tonight,” she whispered against his lips.
His hand tightened on her waist. “I certainly will.”
She kissed him again, lingering for a moment. When she pulled away his eyes flicked to her left arm, which bore the scars of the Olso fire.
“Does that still hurt?” he asked.
“No.”
“Good.” He turned and headed back into the kitchen, and she followed him. Meat crackled on the stove, and he turned the two pieces over in the pan. A pot of something sat across from the meat, and she peeked inside. It was a white creamy soup.
“I may have had help with the soup,” he said. “And the bread. But I did knead it myself. I’ll start going down to the kitchen more often and take out my frustration on dough.”
She peeked into a bowl on the counter. Rolls. Next to it, a bowl of potatoes.
“You enjoy it?” she asked, sitting at the small table against the wall. “Cooking?”
“Yes. It’s relaxing, the chopping and kneading. And it’s satisfying, to put it all together and see it make a meal.” He turned, bracing his hands against the counter behind him. “You don’t like cooking?”
“Not particularly. I prefer it this way. Someone else making me food.” She smiled at him.
He leaned down to kiss her quickly, then returned his attention to the meat.
“Do you think you would have been a chef, if you had been born into a different family?” she asked.
He cocked his head. “Maybe. When I was younger I wanted to be a teacher, but that was only because my tutors came and went from the castle every day. I think I just wanted that kind of freedom. And they told me stories about studying in Vallos or living in Gallego City. It seemed very glamorous to me, to be a teacher. Plus, my father—” He stopped suddenly, his shoulders tensing.
“You can talk about your father, Cas,” Em said quietly.
He reached into the shelf and pulled out two bowls. He didn’t turn to look at her. “It was a nice memory, the thing I was going to say.”
“So? Tell me.”
“I can’t imagine you want to hear nice things about my father.”
“Sure I do,” she said honestly. “I don’t want you to pretend that your father was horrible all the time and you don’t have a single good memory of him. I’m not going to pretend that about my mother. Or my father.”
Cas glanced at her over his shoulder. “You never talk about your father. You always mention him as an afterthought like that.”
“I didn’t know him well. He was uncomfortable around all children, including me and Liv. I think he only had children to make my mother happy.”
He nodded as he put the meat on plates, then ladled soup into the bowls. She took them from him and walked into the dining room, placing the soup on the table. Cas followed with the rest, filling her plate and then his own.
“What do you think you would have done if you had been born to a different family?” Cas asked as they sat down.
“Tell me the memory of your father first.” She took a bite of meat. “This is delicious, by the way.”
“Thank you.” He slowly cut into a potato, his eyes on his plate. “My father liked to read. He’d always spend some time with my tutors, recommending books and discussing things with them. I mean, he’d insist that his interpretation of a book was the only correct interpretation, so perhaps it was more of a lecture than a discussion.” He laughed softly. “But my father had a lot of respect for my tutors, which is perhaps part of the reason I wanted to be one.”
“That makes sense.”
“Now tell me yours,” he said, letting out a breath of air like he was relieved to be changing the subject.
“I would have been an outcast if I’d been born into a different family,” she said. “Since I’m useless. I still was, in many ways, but I was afforded a little more respect, since I was a royal.”
“Are there any other useless Ruined still alive?”
“No. There was one, before, but he died.”
“Were you friends with him?”
“No, he was fifty years older than me. I never even met him, I just heard about him from other people. My mother probably kept him away on purpose. She didn’t want me feeling sorry for myself about being useless, and from what I heard, he was very bitter.” She chewed a piece of bread. “I think I might have been a seamstress, in a different life. I’ve always patched up my own clothes, and I’ve even made a few of my own dresses.”