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Your plan should never depend on somebody else. See? I pay attention to what Master Otavio says. In fact, I’m just putting into practice a lot of what he’s taught me. If anything, he should be proud.
Sometimes I wonder if he thinks I’m only good inside the walls of this tower, if he fears my nature will take over and then I’ll spoil everything, but I won’t. I know it’s an honor to serve the kingdom, and I take my job seriously. One more reason why going on this trip is a brilliant idea; I’ll prove my worth.
As they remove the covers from the trays, the plate with the yellow dessert emerges like a sun from behind clouds. Yes! The silver ducks ended up being useful, after all. I take my plate to serve myself, and then I think the Almighty Mother is indeed watching over me, as the perfect distraction is coming into the hall—and walking in our direction.
Prince Ziven has an odd position in the kingdom, or maybe no position. His father was the former king, but when he died, the crown went to his brother, Ziven’s uncle, now King Leonius, protector of the Kingdom of Krastel.
Ziven… sometimes I wonder if he’s shrewd and knows the mess he could cause if he decided to step up and demand the throne. That’s hardly a problem, of course, considering most of the time he can’t even step forward without stumbling.
Like the other princes, he wears a bracelet with a blue opus stone on his wrist. That stone, if activated properly, with training and meditation, can become a conduit for elemental magic. There are two common types of opus stones; water and air. There used to be one for earth as well, to help grow plants and crops, but I guess it’s not destructive enough, and fell into disuse. Fire magic is too dangerous and unpredictable, said to have a will of its own, so there aren’t beacon stones for that. Air magic is volatile, but some sailors have air opus stones to move their ships. In Krastel, a few royal members and rich merchants carry water opus stones.
The joke that goes around is that if his opus stone controlled alcohol, Ziven would be an expert at it. Alas, his stone controls water—or should.
In Prince Ziven’s case, it controls nothing, since he never learned to use his magic.
Despite being a useless drunk, there’s something about him that’s strangely fascinating. I swear I tried to read the Book of Seduction, but it says girls like powerful, strong, confident men. Ziven is a skinny mess of wasted potential, and yet perhaps it’s his almost golden, light brown hair, or his hazel eyes. None of that is unique or uncommon, but on him, it looks fascinating. His secret is a mystery to me.
I ignore him because he has never acknowledged my existence. Fascinating or not, there’s nothing appealing in someone who can’t see the difference between me and a wall.
Sayanne keeps staring straight ahead, her shoulders square, as if he didn’t exist. Tarlia glances at him, her jaws slightly dropped, her expression wistful. I don’t think she’s flirting or even aware of the look she’s giving him.
And that’s the perfect time for me to grab some custard.
As I’m serving my plate, Ziven collides with our table and laughs. “Ladies, ladies. I’m used to seeing double. But triple?”
I take the opportunity to spread the calapher powder over the dessert, my plate covering my hand, and say, “I know, right? With me, it’s my ears. I’m hearing the same joke echoing for the tenth time now.”
Rude, sure, but I’ve always wanted to say that, and it diverts attention from my hands.
Unfazed, he laughs again and walks away.
Sayanne still ignores him, while Tarlia’s eyes follow him. Would Tarlia want to bring him to her bed? For some reason I conjure the image of Ziven and her together. It doesn’t look bad. I’ve seen him shirtless, making a fool of himself on the training grounds, and even though he’s slim, he’s quite fit.
“Astra, that’s disgusting!” Sayanne’s words startle me. “You’re going to eat custard with your food?”
True. My plate has rice and chicken stew, as well as the custard, but I had no choice. I wanted to make sure I also ate it, so I had to take some before poisoning it. “I was craving it.”
Sayanne raises an eyebrow. “Careful with your cravings.”
“Stop it.” Tarlia places her cup on the table with more force than needed. “At least she does something to appease her cravings, instead of annoying the rest of us.”
Master Andrezza shoots us a glare all the way from her seat.
“Better annoying than sullying.” Sayanne’s tone is calm, but she’s looking only at me. “When I say something, it’s because I care.”
“It’s just custard.” I pretend it’s the most harmless thing in the world. “They haven’t served it in months.”
Tarlia eyes the plate with the dessert. “It’s usually leftover from banquets, and we didn’t have any lately.” She taps a finger on her chin, thinking.
“More reason to enjoy our luck.” I manage a relaxed chuckle, even though I’m rattled to realize I had forgotten that Tarlia is always sharp on details.
To ensure Sayanne has some of the dessert, I take a spoon and close my eyes, trying to convey a sense of bliss. “It’s incredible.”
Now I’m thinking about Tarlia’s face last night and wondering if I’m doing that. I really need to stop thinking about what I saw last night.
Sayanne watches me, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Who could have guessed that chicken stew was the missing ingredient?”
It isn’t.
