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Cake
The edge of the serving tray dug into Tes’s palms as she studied her potential adversary. “You think a prince won’t toy with us servants? My lady, if I had to count—”
“Fine. I get it,” Lady Selesta snapped. “You’re not giving up the disguise. I suppose I can’t blame you, in truth. I wouldn’t have confronted you in the first place if my own life wasn’t in danger.”
Tes noted the thin lines of tension bracketing the other woman’s mouth. “Is someone threatening you, my lady?”
Selesta’s breath huffed out. “The better question is, who isn’t? Perhaps aservantdidn’t see me being offered in front of the king like one of the desserts on that tray, but I assure you, he eyed me just as hungrily as a starving man would the cake. My brother has done his very best to keep me isolated so that I wouldn’t recognize the danger. But I know. Oh, I know.”
Yes, Tes could see that the lady did. There was a bright, furious intensity to her that reminded Tes of herself at that age. An understanding too deep for peace of mind, and a desperation to escape that underpinned her every motivation. Curiosity must have prompted Selesta to sneak around as a child, but cleverness had caused her reaction to what was found.
“You have no desire to be a queen?” Tes asked carefully.
The lady’s answering laugh was somehow both haughty and a touch hysterical. “I have no desire for my body to be taken against my will. Or to be beaten. Or to be silenced and mocked. I wasn’t alive when your mother was, but the stories of her life survive in receiving room whispers.”
Tes winced at that sad truth, although she’d rarely heard those whispers even while disguised. Those types of rumors weren’t often spread in the palace. No, they passed around in private homes and during quiet house parties. Tes had been herself in most of those situations, a royal guest with no time to sneak around as someone else. And one tended not to speak about the unfortunate life of the princess’s mother while said princess was present.
“Does your brother care nothing for you, then?”
“My brother cares for nothing except power,” Selesta answered. “He has quietly run our family for centuries, well before my parents died.”
That was another truth. The previous duke had ceded the title to his son centuries ago to live a quiet life in the northern mountains with his delicate wife. The duchess hadn’t survived for many years after Selesta’s birth, and the old duke had died only a couple of years after. The visit Selesta had mentioned had been the last time Tes had seen him alive. He’d been a sad, grief-stricken shell of himself.
Tes met the lady’s eyes. “Why did you pull me in here?”
“As I said, to find out why you approached me.” Selesta’s chuckle held little humor. “Do you believe you must rid yourself of the competition? Not that you’ll answer with your little act.”
“You can learn a lot about a lady by the way she accepts or refuses cake,” Tes replied. “You seem to be a kind one. My lady.”
Selesta stared at her for a moment before her lips twitched. “I see. A test, then.”
“I can’t imagine what you mean.”
“You can imagine a great deal more than what I mean,” the lady quipped. “But as there is no time to explore those depths, here is the truth. In a few moments, I’ll have to go out there and pretend to be some meek little thing, honored by your father’s favor. But neither of us wants me to marry him. You should be queen.”
There was a “but” there. An important one, no doubt. “What should you be, then?”
“The Duchess of Aony,” the lady replied bluntly. “My brother brings dishonor to our family with his underhanded dealings. Truly, I am sorry that he betrayed your trust. I could find no reasonable way to contact you, and then I thought you dead.”
A grasp at power, of course.
There was every possibility that Selesta was being genuine in her dislike of her brother’s methods, but Tes knew nothing about her. She was young, barely twenty, and yet she wanted control of a dukedom. But Tes couldn’t deny that the woman was clever. She’d deduced who Tes was at the age of five, when most of the court had remained oblivious.
Too bad cleverness was less cause to trust.
Tes lowered her eyes and curtsied. “You must be mistaken, my lady. I can’t make you a duchess. At the moment, I can only offer cake.”
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Selesta said in an even tone. “While I’m a guest in the palace, you’ll deliver me cake in my sitting room every afternoon with my tea. And perhaps I’ll be able to provide enough information for even a servant to make me a duchess.”
A trade, then. Tes hid a smile. “I’ll be happy to bring your cake, my lady.”
It might end in disaster. But if Lady Selesta sought to be in charge of her family, this could help her prove competence—andloyalty. That would be a benefit, indeed. “Tomorrow,” the lady said. “Now, I must pretend to charm a king. Clean up in here, would you?”
“Of course, my lady.”
It was as good an excuse as any to avoid her father.
With every stepthey took into the vast reception room, Ber sensed his wife’s presence with greater intensity. A blessed feeling, normally, but not in this case. Could Ryenil detect her, too? The tension wound Ber’s insides into a taut rope, ready to snap. His body practically burned from the twist.
