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The waif’s expression turned to one of sympathy and she held out her arms.
“Oh, I don’t know…” But there was a look of longing on the exhausted mother’s face.
My waif nodded her red head, and the woman handed the child over at once.
“Perhaps I could just take a stroll?”
The waif looked at me, and I read her glowing expression easily.
“Of course,” I interpreted smoothly. “Please, relax, we’ll take it from here.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Before I could respond, the door opened, and I heard all of the servants snap to attention behind me. I felt myself stiffen. I had not mentioned the girl to my father, and I was not prepared to explain her presence just yet. I’d hoped to enjoy her a bit longer before deciding what was to be done about her.
Clenching my jaw, I watched him. The king didn’t often join us for the noon-day meal, so this was quite a surprise indeed.
He was standing with his hands on his hips, surveying the room. I could see his eyes narrow at the smiles and amusement in people’s eyes. Not that he objected to merriment—it was just so rare here in the castle. He was trying to find the source of it.
And I saw the moment his eyes fell upon her. I inwardly cursed myself for not having said anything, for not having prepared her for this. But when I turned, she had pushed back her chair and was standing.
I whipped my head back toward my father and saw his expression change. It went from curiosity to disapproval.
He suspects she’s one of my usual girls. And he will throw a fit that I’ve brought her into the dining room.
I could practically hear him in my head, for it was a speech I’d heard more than once: “You have a duty to king and country, Damian.”
“Even when my king is my father?” I usually muttered, only to receive a peevish, quelling look.
“Your duty is to continue our family line! Every man has needs, and you are indeed a man. But first, my boy, you are a prince! Remember it well.”
I could see it in his eyes, his intentions to give me that very speech for the hundred-and-fifth time. It was there in the furrow of his brow, the narrowing of his eyes. Before I could so much as swallow the sigh that rose to my lips, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye.
It was the waif, still with the babe in her arms.
Before I could whisper a warning to her, or issue an order, she was moving toward him with a grace that was unquestionable. In fact, she looked… nearly regal as she approached the King. She had her head held high, her expression serene as she faced the most powerful man in the kingdom. Then, still with the child clinging to her, she stopped about two feet from him and dropped into an elegant, graceful curtsey, her head dipped just enough to show deference.
A servant nearby began to break into applause at the remarkable feat until I silenced them with a look. Still, they beamed at my waif with shining eyes.
A cursory look around the dining hall showed that all who were watching—servant, or invited guest—were looking at her with awed, proud expressions.
And my waif paid no attention to any of them. Her focus was still on my father, the king, her back straight as her legs bent.
At last, he moved toward her. “My dear!” he boomed warmly, offering his hand.
She offered her own in another swan-like, graceful movement, and he rewarded her by pressing a kiss to the back of it before helping her to stand.
“My dear, my dear, so impressive!” he told her, beaming. “Wherever did you come from?”
And his eyes immediately found me. Noticing I was looking back, he lifted a brow. When I nodded, his smile turned downright jovial.
He walked over to the empty chair next to mine and pulled it out.
My waif returned to sitting in it as though her movements were made of water—fluid and without hesitation.
“Could it be, Damian?” my father murmured, for my ears only. “Could it be you’ve finally chosen someone your father would approve of?”
Without waiting for an answer, he left to sit at the head of the table.
