She was used to blending in. What she did was the opposite of performance. She never drew attention to herself. As a member of staff at the palace, it was part of her job. As a member of her household with a stepmother who hated her beyond the telling of it, it was a matter of survival.
The one time Birdie had ever drawn attention to herself had been in the study with Onyx. Had been when they’d made love, and look what a disaster that had turned into.
Onyx did everything for visibility. Except that moment in the study.
In those quiet moments, when there was no one else around, she supposed they were more alike than they were different.
Maybe.
“Whatever will you do if a lift of your quizzical brow doesn’t make headlines?”
“I have no desire to be a headline,” he said.
“Do you not? It seems as if you do everything out of deference for those headlines.”
“Deference and realism are two very different things than desire.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“And if you say so, then it is law. At least back in Basilia. But I suppose not here. Are you even a king here?”
“You are impertinent.”
“I’m your wife. You only seek to remind me of my impertinence, or my perceived getting above myself because I’m a servant to you. Yet again, another strike against your snobbery.”
“I’m growing weary of you.”
“That is too bad.”
She turned away from him, peering around the wall, where the stream was flowing. “And what’s over there, I wonder?”
“Snakes, most likely.”
“Are there snakes here?”
“Entirely possible.”
“Interesting.” She walked out ahead of him, following that stream. There were no paved walkways out beyond the wall. It was all rocks and snarls and hanging vines. There were also trees with plump, ripe fruit hanging off of them. She wasn’t going to climb a tree; she wouldn’t do anything half so foolish while she was pregnant. Though, she was a very accomplished tree climber from her childhood. But just reaching up to the next few branches didn’t seem like it would cause very much trouble.
She climbed up onto a branch, then to the next one like it was a rung on a ladder.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
“I’m picking fruit. Because it is one of life’s great joys. But then, I suppose you don’t know that.”
“Why would I know that?”
“Because you live in the world, Your Highness.”
“I have never had occasion to pick fruit.”
“Of course not. Someone does it for you. And they present it to your royal personage, and prepare a fine meal besides, and you never have to examine the how of any of it.”
“You speak to me as if you find me ignorant.”
“And arrogant,” she said.
