by Simon Archer
There were cozy chairs and bookshelves along a stone wall. Lanterns hung from hooks on the wall, illuminating the garden that was her room. Just like the greenhouses, plants of all kinds grew freely. Something that I did notice was that almost all the plants were flowers. Some were still budding, others were wilting, but most were in full, splendid bloom.
Tulips, violets, daisies, roses, and carnations were some of the few I recognized. It was a regular floral rainbow. The smell, surprisingly, wasn’t overwhelming, though the most prominent were honeysuckle and jasmine. It reminded me of stepping outside on a dewy spring morning.
As I admired the flowers, I saw several bees hop from one flower to the next. I followed their flight pattern to a hive that hung from strong vines on one of the windows. Normally, I would have backed away from the sight of so many bees, but knowing that they were Em’s merkin comforted me.
“When I was little, I was not always allowed to go outside, so Atlus resolved to bring the outside to me,” Em said, fondly looking at her cousin.
“It’s magnificent,” I said honestly.
“Thank you,” Em said with a small, bashful smile. “It keeps me busy when I am isolated.”
“I’m sure it’s a lot of work to maintain,” I commented, absently thinking about all the water, soil, and sunlight needed to keep these flowers so healthy.
“I get help every so often from…” Em stopped herself. She swallowed her words and started over. “I used to get help, but I can manage.”
Something told me Em was about to mention Maria, but her resentment stopped her from saying her old friend’s name. I let the matter lie and changed the subject for her.
“Atlus tells me you play chess?”
“Yes,” Em said. “Not as well as him, obviously, but I have managed to beat him a couple of times.”
“She is a talented player,” Atlus complimented. “Do not sell yourself short.”
“All I am trying to say is I will be easier to play than this one,” Em said as she hip-checked Atlus lightly. She then held out her hand to a nearby table. “Shall we?”
Atlus held out the chair for Em, and she sat. I placed myself across from her. Atlus placed himself in a window seat.
“I am only here to observe,” the king said as he held up his hands in surrender. “It will be easier for me to watch Martin’s moves if I do not have to focus on my own game.”
“As if that’s difficult for you,” I scoffed.
“He is being modest,” Em teased. She rested her cane against the side of the table, and for the first time, I got to see the detailed handle.
Predictably, it was a bumblebee. The tip was a curved stinger, and the wings were small enough and properly placed so Em could curl her fingers comfortably around the figurehead. It was encased in gold that shimmered in the firelight.
“That is a beautiful piece,” I complimented.
Em tilted her head in confusion, so I pointed to the cane, and Em’s eyes followed. “Oh, thank you.”
“That is new, Em,” King Atlus commented. “Martin’s right. It is gorgeous, but where did you get it?”
“It was a gift,” Em said absently.
Atlus’s eyebrows rose. “From whom?”
“No one you need concern yourself with,” Em replied coyly.
“I am the king!” Atlus protested. “Everyone concerns me.”
“A simple admirer,” Em answered. “Do not worry, cousin, I had Rebekah and Madame Michell examine it for any enchantments. They deemed it safe. I know better than to accept foreign presents.”
The king looked at his cousin skeptically, but he seemed to accept her explanation because he proceeded to snatch a black and a white pawn off the table.
“Whoever they are, they certainly have good taste,” I whispered across the table to Em.
“Right?” she said with the brightest smile I had seen since the tournament. It was refreshing to see her comfortable and happy.
Atlus interrupted us by thrusting his closed fists in front of me. “Pick one,” he commanded.
I selected his left hand like always and, for one of the few times, got white.
“You go first,” Em said. “I am excited to see how you play.”
“Feel free to try to hold your breath,” I joked and moved my pawn to begin the game.
31
Training for the Dinner was a nightmare. We spent every afternoon over the next two weeks together, simulating the formal event. I had a running bet with myself about how long it would take for Madame Lilysmyth’s brain to explode from yelling at me.
“You are using the wrong spoon, Martin.”
“Martin, the Minister of Magical Affairs sits to the left of the Lead Caretaker.”
“Do not wipe the napkin across your mouth. Dab only.”
“You are slurping again, Martin.”
It wasn’t as though I was a complete slob, but these practice dinners made me feel like I’d grown up in a pigpen. No matter how many times I reviewed the order of the courses… seven in total!... and the correct way to signal I was done with my plate, none of the rules would stick.
To top it off, just a few days before the official dinner, Madame Lilysmyth gave us what she considered a wonderful surprise. Apparently, she and I had very different definitions of the word “wonderful.”
“The king has requested that you inductees show off a natural talent during the dinner,” the instructor said with a giddy smile. “Between each course, one of you will present a skill to the rest of the guests. The definition of skill or talent is up to you, but it cannot have to do with your gift from your merkin. Demonstrations of that will be later in the introduction process.”
Just what I needed: more opportunities to make a fool of myself. Now, not only did I have to get through a proper, noble dinner without utterly failing, but now I had to compete in a talent show. Because, of course, there was a contest associated with this presentation.
“You will be ranked based on your manners and knowledge of proper protocol at the dinner and then for the presentation of your skill,” Madame Lilysmyth informed the group of us. “Similar to the tournament, if you do not make the top four ranks, you will be removed from the introduction process.”
In all honesty, I didn’t have time to think about the skill or talent portion of the evening because I still couldn’t comprehend the rules of the dinner. No matter how much I studied or practiced, I couldn’t get the hang of it. It was like being back in high school studying for finals week.
Rebekah found me one morning as I sat by myself in my room, a mock dinner setting laid out before me as I quizzed myself on dinner etiquette.
Even though I heard her knock and open my door, I did not look up from where I sat glaring at the several spoons before me.
“Did those spoons commit some atrocity against you to deserve such a look?” Rebekah joked, her voice amused and causing me to break concentration to give her an exasperated look.
“Why are there so many rules for a dinner?” I bemoaned, earning another chuckle from the captain.
I raised a finger and jabbed it in her direction, “If you’re so knowledgeable, why don’t you help me? Actually,” I looked Rebekah up and down, just now noticing that she was out of uniform and was actually dressed down, wearing a simple tunic and pants, “were you wanting something?”
Rebekah’s face went serious for a moment. “I just wanted to make sure that you were doing okay since I haven’t seen you around in a while. But, since I am here… I think I can find a way to encourage you to remember the required etiquette for this dinner.”
A tingle of something went down my spine at the way she said that, alongside the way her eyes darkened as she stepped fully into my room, closing the door with a quiet latch behind her.
I brought up a smirk as I leaned back on my elbows, eyeing the captain as she lowered herself before me, “Is that so? You some master of dinner etiquette?”
Rebekah’s laugh was huskier this time, a
nd a memory flashed to the front of my head of the first time I really heard that type of laugh from the woman before me. It had been when she was describing her gift, right before we got intimate in the middle of the Marked woods.
I crossed my legs in an attempt to hide the strain in my pants that I knew was there at the memory. Based on Rebekah’s knowing look, though, she knew exactly what I was attempting to hide.
“Here is how this lesson will go, Martin,” she said, voice deepening with desire as her blue eyes pinned me in place. No doubt she heard me swallow at my suddenly dry throat. “I will ask you a question regarding dinner etiquette or placement of certain nobles at the table. For every correct answer…” Rebekah got up on her knees, hands caging me in as I sat before her. “I will get rid of a piece of my clothing.”
Now that was an idea, an idea I was immediately interested in. Leaning into Rebekah’s space, I smiled at her.
“And if I answer incorrectly?”
At that, Rebekah leaned in until her breath was ghosting the shell of my ear, causing me to withhold a shiver. “If you lose, then I will stop until you answer correctly.”
It sounded like a win-win for me. So with a wicked grin, I agreed, “Let’s do it.”
Rebekah leaned back to the spot across from me and gestured to the placement before me, “Which fork is used first, and what is it used for?”
“That’s a trick question.” Narrowing my eyes at the forks in question, I recalled the answer. “The fork on the right would be used first if oysters are served, while the outermost fork on the left would be used for salad if the salad was served first.”
Rebekah grinned widely at my response, and her answer to my response was simply to twist her arms and, in one quick motion, remove her shirt, leaving her chest barely covered in a shift. She moved on.
“In the event that the King uses the salad knife for the main course, what is the correct way to inform him?”
I smirked and narrowed my gaze at the woman attempting to look innocent. “Are these all going to be trick questions?” She didn’t answer me, so I told her, “You don’t bring attention if the King uses the wrong cutlery. If possible, you simply use the same cutlery as he does so as to prevent embarrassment for him.”
My reward for correctly answering that was the removal of Rebekah’s pants, leaving her in a pair of small cotton panties. My concentration level went down as my mouth watered at the sight before me.
“Martin?”
At the sound of my name, I shook my head and returned my eyes to Rebekah’s face. She hid a giggle behind her hands, and I melted a bit more.
“Should I repeat my question?”
I shuffled a bit where I sat, my situation growing a bit more uncomfortable as my eyes kept trailing down Rebekah’s exposed skin. “Please.”
“What order do the nobles sit in relation to the King?” Her eyes flashed, and I knew she chose this particular question because it was one of the hardest to remember.
My thoughts kept trailing away from Ministers and seating charts, and back towards where Rebekah was now moving her arms and gently cupping her breasts in her hands.
“Um,” I fought against the thoughts now running through my mind, which were definitely not about seating arrangements, “the king’s family sits closest.” One of Rebekah’s hands trailed down her toned stomach. “And then the—the…”
Her hand stopped right at the edge of her panties, and I quickly ran through the seating arrangements in my head.
“The Ministers,” I began, and her hand resumed and ventured underneath the cloth. “In rank of importance, and then the noble families in rank of status.”
Rebekah practically purred from her spot across from me. “Good job, Martin.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. Tossing the utensils aside, I grabbed Rebekah’s hips, ignoring her startled noise, and pulled her into my lap, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss as my hands trailed after hers.
“Martin!” Rebekah gasped, not so much in surprise but in pleasure. “Do you not need any more tutorinig?”
“No,” I growled with a grin. “I think the only lesson we need tonight is flat-backed on this table.” With that, I hooked my finger into the edge of those offending panties and tore them off her.
Instead of a scowl or even a grimace of pain from the tearing fabric, Rebekah only had heat and desire in her eyes. “I should be angry, but the only thought in my head is how best to christen this table properly. Shall you instruct me now, Martin?”
“I would love nothing better.”
32
After the… lesson with Rebekah, I took the time to go to the library for the next couple of days. I took Madame Lilysmyth’s list of books and asked for all nine every single time. The royal librarian was a cheery woman named Haylie. Her cheeks were perpetually rosy, and she spoke abnormally loud for a librarian.
Nevertheless, I liked her, and in spite of all the rumors, she greeted me like every other patron. She had my books prepped and ready for me each morning, and I’d grown to appreciate her efficiency.
So, when Haylie approached the table I’d claimed as a second dwelling, I smiled up at her.
“Good morning, Martin,” she greeted me with that wide grin.
“Morning,” I tried my best to match her cheeriness, but I couldn’t quite manage it. The anticipation of spending another couple of hours lording over these books and trying to commit the useless information to memory put a bit of a damper on my general cheeriness.
“Pardon me, but I could not help but notice the books you always ask for,” the librarian said, her voice carrying a bit across the shelves.
“Yeah?” I asked, wondering where she was going with this.
“They are all about etiquette and history of the court, yes?” She confirmed.
I tapped the title currently in front of me: The Ten Essential Tips for Dinner with the King. “How did you know?”
“Oh, you are silly, my lord.” Haylie giggled. “But if it is not too imposing, I have found another title that might help your studies.”
I looked at the stack of the tombs before me and grimaced. “I don’t know, Haylie. I really appreciate it, but I think I have my hands full here.”
“I assure you, this text will replace all the others,” Haylie encouraged. She revealed a thin leather-bound book with a strap wrapped around the outside. The pages were yellowing, and the corners were dogeared.
“What is it?” I asked, intrigued by the slimness of the volume.
“It is a journal from King Garham’s valet,” Haylie said with bright eyes. She clutched the book to her chest, cradling it as gently as one would a child. “Her name was Bryleigh, and she was very close to the king. She documented many a dinner the late king hosted, including seating charts, meal lists, and more.”
The librarian held the book out to me, one hand on the top and on the bottom. I gripped the sides, but Haylie wouldn’t let me take the book from her quite yet. She had one more warning left to impart.
“This is one book that must be kept in the library,” she said with stern eyes. For the first time, she looked like the stereotypical librarian. “Do you understand, my lord?”
“Yes.” I nodded vigorously, eager to flip through the new text.
Taking me at my word, the librarian released the book and put her hands on her hips, satisfied. “Well, leave it at the front desk for me when you are finished. Hopefully, it will help.”
“Thank you, Haylie,” I said, hugging the book to my own chest.
She wiggled her nose and smiled big. The librarian waddled back to her station and left me to my studying.
Immediately, I flipped open the journal and began deciphering the cursive handwriting. It was obvious that this was Bryleigh’s personal diary. It felt a little intrusive, even though this young woman was long since dead. It took a little bit of weeding, as I sifted through retellings of Bryleigh’s attempts to get a guard’s attention or her visits to the market.
&nb
sp; However, when I reached the dinners, the late lord’s valet didn’t let me down. Her details were exquisite, and some of the pages even contained sketches of table settings. The visual learner in me rejoiced, and I asked Haylie for a spare bit of parchment so that I could recreate Bryleigh’s drawings using charcoal. I would also read a passage and then close my eyes, trying to picture the dining hall as it was now.
It was one of the most productive mornings since I’d been tasked with attending this dinner. I took breaks every so often when my butt went numb, or my neck was sore from pouring over the pages. It was during one of these pauses that my eyes caught an interesting word in Bryleigh’s fancy scrawl.
Maximus, it read.
I leaned forward in my chair, stopping mid-stretch with my arms still up in the air. As my eyes read the words, my arms lowered as my fingers flattened the pages. Apparently, Bryleigh had come upon the king having a conversation with his dragon:
I knew I should not have stayed to listen. It was an accident. I was only trying to find his majesty to tell him that the Minister of Finances was looking for him. That man creeps me out, so I just agreed to get out of the same room as him.
The king was down by the Zoo and seemed to be upset. I almost rushed to him, but I could see that Maximus was with him. He was clearly sharing a private moment with his merkin, so I turned to leave.
Until the king admitted to being homesick.
He used those exact words. Homesick! The king! He was always so private about his hometown. I always assumed he came from the outskirts of Insomier and was ashamed about his origins. He speaks so quickly and strangely, after all, but I would never say that to his face.
But then the king spoke of traveling from a long way away, and there was something about a well. I wonder if his parents are water keepers or own a farm. Then the red dragon reminded him of the commitment he had made here, and there was no way for him to go back.
I don’t understand. If he is homesick, why could he not visit? He is the king, after all, and can do whatever he likes. Surely, if anyone deserves a vacation, it is him.