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“Sit, and let me finish what I’m doing.”
She laughed. “So demanding.” Regardless, she slipped into a seat at the table and inhaled the lovely aroma of pine mixed with the hint of cinnamon.
With efficiency to rival Sheena’s, Davian set out bowls of food, from baked potatoes to sage-flavored stuffing to steamed asparagus and a vegetable medley. But his main dish surprised her most.
“Filet mignon,” he explained when he placed a plump, round piece of meat on her plate. “With Hollandaise sauce.” He drizzled the pale-yellow concoction over her steak.
She eyed the beef and said, “I have no idea what this is.”
“Just wait.”
He disappeared out the front door, only to come back a few seconds later with a bottle in his hand. “Champagne from France. I had it chilling in the snow.”
She gawked. “Seriously, this is how you eat at the castle?”
“Well,” he said in a tone that wasn’t arrogant—or contrite. “I am the king.”
“True.”
“Besides,” he said as he popped the cork on the bottle, “Ryleigh has cattle and a butcher. He could provide this same cut.”
“Oooh, your first jibe.”
He laughed good-naturedly. “I’m not trying to be snide. Merely stating a fact.”
Jade’s subconscious instantly hit upon something she’d deliberated over for some time. “It’s sort of like all those books in Lisette’s library that hardly anyone but her and I read. Once the villagers figured out how to survive post-war with things they’d recovered and salvaged, recreated from scratch or traded for, they seemed satisfied with the status quo. Instead of looking for ways to make improvements.”
“Maybe that’s because my army destroyed all the previous advancements.”
“And we think you might do it again, if we try to progress? That’s an interesting conjecture.”
Davian seemed to chew on this a moment, then diplomatically offered, “Perhaps we shouldn’t discuss politics tonight.”
“Agreed. Except…” She thought of the book she’d handed to Lisette earlier. “Have you ever read North and South?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“It’s a fictitious novel centered around the Civil War—which took place during your formative years.”
He shot her a playful sneer at the age remark. “Go on.”
“Well, the main character is the son of the owner of a southern plantation who goes off to West Point and meets the male heir to an iron factory in the north. They have significantly different life experiences, obviously, and don’t share similar viewpoints on most topics, all because of where and how they were raised.” She sipped her champagne and was momentarily sidetracked by the effervescence. “Wow…that’s good.”
Davian grinned. “Thought you’d like it.”
He never failed to nail down precisely what she liked. But that was another topic—one to explore later…in bed.
“Anyway,” she continued, fighting distractingly arousing thoughts, “above all that, the commonalities these two men actually do share are significant.”
“Such as?”
“Honor. Respect for their families, their friends and their legacies. Even open-mindedness.”
“Good qualities to possess.”
“Yes. And despite all their opposing opinions, they become the best of friends. Their families even bond to an extent. But the tensions increase as the regional issues escalate. The war eventually breaks out and they’re pitted against each other—so too are their families. Yet no matter the pressure of their heritages, somehow they find the strength to remain friends amongst the turmoil and against all odds.”
Jade found an acute relevancy in the parallelism forming in the back of her brain.
