One Dark Throne (Three Dark Crowns #2)(29)

“Wait,” says Natalia. “Let me send a letter to Luca first. Perhaps we can save ourselves an argument.”





ROLANTH





Billy has ordered a table set for two in the sunlit grounds behind Westwood House. It is a pretty table, with a bright white tablecloth and silver platters. But as Mirabella sits, the sun glints off one and nearly blinds her. So she calls some clouds, and soon the sky is filled with thunderheads.

“What’s the point of dining outside?” Billy asks. “If you wanted shade, I could have had the table moved underneath the trees.”

“I will not let them rain,” Mirabella says as he presses his lips together crossly. He has warmed to Bree and to Sara. And of course he could not resist Elizabeth. But when Mirabella speaks, he barely listens. Much of his time is spent in the city with Bree and her glassmaking apprentice, and when he is not there, he is with Elizabeth at the temple, fascinated by the white-robed priestesses and their black tattooed bracelets.

Mirabella clears her throat and turns toward the cart of food. Fortunately, he is a good taster, taking complete control of the kitchen. Unfortunately, he is a horrible cook.

“What have you brought for us today?”

“Pork stew,” he says, “with spoon bread for dipping and, for dessert, a baked strawberry tart with cream.”

“You are becoming quite skilled,” she says, and smiles.

“Lying is a waste when you know I have to taste it.” He serves them both. The stew looks thin and strangely pale. A sheen of grease has collected on the surface. He uses her fork and knife to sample everything on her plate and waits in silence to see if he will fall over or froth at the mouth.

“I don’t know why I bother,” he says. “The priestesses there”—he gestures into the shadows of the house—“they watched me prepare it and insisted on tasting it themselves.”

“They do not trust you?”

“Of course not. My father gave his word that I would do as I was told, but everyone knows how I feel about Arsinoe.” He clears his throat. “But regardless, I don’t want you eating anything except what I prepare, do you understand?”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve been assured that if you die on my watch, Rho will saw off my head and send it back to my father on a barge.”

Mirabella laughs. “We send many grisly things back on barges, it seems.”

“Yes.” Billy arches his brow. “Joseph told me what Bree said to him before he sailed.”

The cloth overlay of Billy’s cart clucks, and a brown chicken pokes her head out from under the covering, stepping out of the basket she was riding in.

“There is a chicken in your cart.”

“I know,” Billy snaps, and slaps his napkin across his lap.

“Why is there a chicken in your cart?”

“Because this was supposed to be chicken stew,” he says. “I’ve been hand-feeding this bird for days to be sure it was not poisoned before the fact. And now . . .” He pours Mirabella some water and drinks from her cup. The hen clucks, and Billy tosses down a chunk of bread.

“Now her name is Harriet,” he says quietly.

Mirabella laughs.

“No doubt you think I’ve been spending too much time with lowly naturalists,” he says.

“I would never say that. The naturalists are the island’s lifeblood. They feed us. They ensure good hunts.”

“A very queenly answer. One you have been groomed to say?”

“You think because I was raised for the crown I do not know how to think for myself.”

Billy shrugs. He takes a spoonful of greasy stew and swallows it down hard before turning to the bread.

“I’ve known girls like you before. Not queens, of course, but very rich, very spoiled girls who have grown up hearing nothing but praise. Nothing but talk of their family’s important place in the world. And I never liked any of them more than just to look at.”

Mirabella takes a bite of pork. It is terrible. If all she has to eat between now and the crowning is food that Billy has cooked, she will be nearly as thin as Katharine.

“Those are unkind words,” she says. “Your family is not poor, or you would not be here.”

“True enough. Or it would be were my father not reminding me daily that he will take it all, that he will give it away if I don’t earn it.”

“How must you earn it?” she asks.

“By accomplishing whatever benchmark gets into his head that day. Being accepted into the right school, impressing the governor, winning a cricket match. Becoming king-consort of a secret, mystical island.”

“But you ran away from the island,” Mirabella says. “With Arsinoe. You would give up your fortune for her?”

Billy chuckles around a mouthful of bread.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I always planned on coming back.”

Mirabella lowers her head and smiles. His words say one thing, but the truth lies in the color that rises to his cheeks.

“Besides,” he says, “I hardly believe he means it anymore. The same threat used daily loses its shine, you know? Why are you smiling?”

“No reason.” She stabs a piece of potato with her fork and drops it into the grass for the chicken. “It is tragic what has happened to Arsinoe’s suitors in Wolf Spring. But some part of you must be glad that they are not there with her anymore.”