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“If you saw a photograph, you would not recognize me. I grew fifteen centimeters in days.” He paused. “I don’t recommend it.”
“May I see a photograph of you?” she asked, intrigued. There were only a handful of photographs of the original colonists. Recorded images had been digital and did not survive long once they arrived on the planet. The same was true of the settlers’ digital media and books. So many works of literature had been lost.
He took a moment before answering. “There are none surviving.” He consulted the list and crossed off another item. “Draven is my chosen name.”
She thought as much. There was no Draven recorded on the list of passengers or crew. “What was your original name?”
“That’s enough questions for one day.” He folded the page and set it aside. “I haven’t had a proper meal in a week. Join me.”
An order and not a question. He seemed to be fond of those. She said, “Very well. Do you plan on dressing for dinner, or are you going to scandalize the staff?”
He glanced down at his feet and backed up, a grin revealing a hint of fang. “I don’t see the point. The cold doesn’t bother me.”
“Scandal it is, not that you’ll hear a complaint from me.”
He laughed, a bit too loud and abrasive, the sound of someone not used to being demonstrative of joy. Charlotte found it delightful, but she already knew her tastes were questionable.
He pulled a cord to ring a bell, presumably downstairs. While they waited, she dressed. Draven, regrettably, also dressed. She went to pin her hair back up, but he touched her arm. “Leave it down,” he said.
Their meal arrived shortly via a small elevator in the wall. “Directly from the kitchen. It’s much faster than carrying trays up and down the stairs,” Draven said.
There was more than enough for two. Charlotte hadn’t been particularly hungry, but the aroma set her mouth watering. They started with a creamy leek soup and bread still warm from the oven. There was an entire roast chicken served with roasted vegetables, mostly carrots, onion, and potatoes. It was simple but pleasing.
A warm contentment settled over her. She enjoyed their conversation, even their argument, and especially the means to resolve the argument. Now, sharing a meal, it was markedly different from their first dinner. The situation felt comfortable. Correct. Remarkably domestic, like they had shared intimate winter evenings for ages and there were no poisonings or accusations of assassination. Charlotte would even dare to call it cozy.
At the end of the meal, coffee arrived, and a servant cleared away the dishes.
“You seem to be missing a guard. I’m certain I assigned one to you before I left,” Draven said, sounding too casual as he placed his napkin on the table.
Just like that, the mood shifted from cozy to perilous.
Charlotte’s hand trembled. Coffee sloshed precariously inside the cup. She set it down, careful not to spill it on the table or herself. “Oh?”
“Do not act innocent, sweetness. Tell me what happened to your guard.”
There was no good response. She was already caught in his trap. Saying nothing would bring his wrath down on Orianne, who was blameless. Confessing her sins would result in some kind of horror, she was sure. Locked away in the dungeon. Only gruel for sustenance and Lemoine for company. Worse still, he’d take away access to his library.
“If you won’t tell me, then I’ll hear it from Orianne.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the server. “Leave the dishes. Bring Private Orianne to me at once.”
The coffee turned bitter on her tongue. She had only thought about slipping away from her chaperone, not the consequences. “Please don’t punish Orianne. It’s not her fault. I distracted her.”
“That is no excuse.”
“I was terribly persuasive and determined to get away.”
Draven swirled the glass, the amber liquid sloshing up the sides. “A guard must be able to keep their head at all times and follow orders. Whatever excuse you have for Orianne abandoning her duty, she knew better.”
Even though he spoke of Orianne’s failure to follow orders, she knew it was directed at her.
It only took a few minutes before Orianne arrived, red in the face and huffing as if she ran the entire way. Her gaze immediately homed in on Charlotte. “There you are. I’ve been looking—”
Draven cleared his throat. Orianne snapped to attention, her posture painfully rigid.
“Explain yourself, Private,” he said.
“I instructed Lady Charlotte to remain in the greenhouse—”
“You abandoned your post.”
