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I was barely listening as, from the corner of my eye, I saw Claude motion for his glass to be refilled. I tensed, doubting it went unnoticed by Prince Thorne or the others. Claude picked up a buttery roll, tearing it apart before eating it piece by piece as niceties continued to be exchanged. I hoped the bread soaked up some of the alcohol he was consuming. I glanced at the Prince— at his hands as he carved into the chicken.
There was this distinctive edge creeping into how everyone spoke, an increasing thinness to the words of the Hyhborn as the Baron continued to drink. And I was fascinated with watching the Hyhborn eat, which I could admit was a bit odd. It was just strange to see them eat with such impeccable manners while in their armor, with the brief glimpses of sheathed daggers each time they moved in their chairs. Meanwhile, the Baron continued to pick at his food like a small child.
“Would you like something else?” Prince Thorne asked.
When there was no answer, I looked up from the Prince’s hands, slowly realizing he was speaking to me. My cheeks warmed. “Excuse me?”
He gestured at my plate with this fork. “You’ve barely eaten.”
My normally robust appetite had been all but vanquished by my nerves and what was going on around me. “I ate a small meal not too long before dinner,” I told him.
One brow rose, and he looked at me as if he knew I was lying, which I was.
“Are you tired?” Claude glanced at my plate before looking over at the Prince. “She has been quite tired of late.”
I bit down on my lip. That was extremely unnecessary of him to share.
“Is that so?” Prince Thorne’s fingers tapped idly.
“She’s been spending a lot of time outside,” Claude went on as I inhaled deeply through my nose. “In that garden of hers.”
Interest sparked in Lord Bastian’s features. “The garden?”
“Not the garden you’re likely thinking of,” I quickly explained. “There’s just a small patch of the Baron’s gardens that is mine.”
“If I can’t find her within these manor walls, I always know where to find her,” Claude said with a touch of fondness. “She has quite the green thumb.”
Feeling Prince Thorne’s gaze on me, I speared a steamed carrot with my fork.
“So I’ve heard,” Prince Thorne murmured.
“You’ve told him about your garden?” Claude asked with a deep chuckle. “Did she speak to you about the various breeds of sedum? Stimulating conversation, I assure you.”
“Differentspecies,” I muttered under my breath.
“Not as of yet.” Prince Thorne took a bite of his chicken. “How many different species of sedum are there?”
Surely, he couldn’t seriously want to know, but he placed his fork beside his plate and waited. “There are . . . there are hundreds of different species, Your Grace.”
“Thorne,” he corrected.
Beside him, Commander Rhaziel turned his head to him, his brows lifting.
“Hundreds?” the Prince questioned, either unaware of the Commander’s stare or ignoring him. “How can anyone be sure of that? I imagine they all look the same.”
“They don’t look the same, though.” I tipped forward in my chair. “Some grow to over a foot while others hug the ground. Their stems can be rather delicate and easily snapped, but they can choke out even the most persistent of weeds— especially a type called Dragon’s Blood, which spreads rather rapidly. They’re a genus of succulent that . . .” I trailed off, realizing that everyone, including the staff, was staring at me.
Lord Bastian had that curious little smile on his face.
Commander Rhaziel appeared as if icepicks were being driven into his ears.
But Prince Thorne . . . he lookedengrossed.“And what?” he insisted.
I cleared my throat. “And they come in almost every color, but I . . . I prefer the red and pink kinds. They seem to be easier to cultivate and last the longest.”
Prince Thorne flexed the hand that tapped. “What is the most common then?”
Aware of the other Hyhborn’s gazes bouncing between the Prince and me, I felt warmth creep into my cheeks. “Likely a type known as Autumn Joy. It reminds me a bit of cauliflower in appearance throughout summer, and then blooms a bright pink starting in September.”
