Hunter's Season (Elder Races #4.7)(19)

His gait was steady, if a bit stiff, as he walked over to ease into one of the chairs. The reality of sitting across from him and eating alone with him started to sink in.

She remembered the clotted cream and said awkwardly, “I almost forgot something—I’ll be right back.”

He snagged hold of her hand when she would have walked away. Her insides churned at the warm grasp. Although she would have given anything for him not to have been so badly wounded, already there were so many moments of this experience that she would hold close and treasure afterward. Chief among them was every time he touched her.

He looked up at her. The gold of the sun glimmered in his light gray eyes. “Thank you for this, Xanthe. Thank you for everything.”

She turned her hand to clasp his and press briefly at his lean fingers, as she said, entirely truthfully, “It is truly my pleasure, my lord.”

“I expect you to start calling me Aubrey,” he said as he returned the squeeze of her fingers and released her. “After all, as you so eloquently pointed out, you are not my servant.”

He was nobility, while she was a commoner. She forced her lips to move. “That would not be appropriate.”

He winked at her. “As Tiago would say, screw appropriate.”

Winked. At her.

She should probably respond in some manner to what he had said, but her mind seized up, so she gave up and fled the cottage.

When she drew up the wire basket from the well to retrieve the pot of cream, she splashed cold water on her face and stood for a moment with her head bent, the water dripping from her nose and chin.

“Aubrey,” she whispered. The sweet pain, that honeyed stiletto, pierced her all over again.

When she returned indoors, he was watching the dying flames in the cookfire, his food untouched. He had waited for her. That embarrassed her for some reason. She opened the pot and set it on the table as she slipped into her seat. She muttered, “For the berries.”

Aubrey picked up his knife and fork. “Niniane knows I have a sweet tooth. It was kind of her to indulge it.”

“We have steak for this evening,” she told him. “And a roast for tomorrow. After that, it will be fish and salt meat. If you like, I can use the roast for a field stew.” A field stew was traditional hunter’s fare and often combined sweet and savory flavors.

“I love field stew. It’s the only thing I know how to cook, although it has been some time since I have actually hunted.” He gave her another smile to add to her treasure of memories. “Niniane was right, this cottage is charming. Your father did a wonderful job.”

“Thank you.” She looked around as if seeing it through fresh eyes. To someone of Aubrey’s stature and wealth, it must seem like a very humble place.

“Where is your father now?”

The bite she had taken turned to dust in her mouth. She forced herself to swallow. “He was one of the palace guards who died the night Urien seized power.”

Aubrey paused eating as well. “I’m very sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” She gave him a quick smile. “I was only a new recruit in the army, so I was nowhere near the palace that night.”

He studied her. “You stayed a soldier despite what had happened?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “I did. I worked hard and eventually became a palace guard. I had a dream of one day taking Urien completely by surprise and sinking my knife into his back. The chance never came. When Tiago employed me, I told that to him in the interview. He liked that I could be so patient while I looked for an opportunity. He called the last two hundred years my hunting season.” She lifted her gaze to Aubrey’s face. Would he be repulsed by what she had just confessed?

He didn’t look in the least repulsed. His expression was open and accepting. As they finished the main portion of their meal, he took the pot of cream, spooning some onto her berries first before he helped himself. The small courtesy warmed her.

He said, “After Urien killed Rhian and Shaylee who were my friends, the hardest thing I ever did was to remain Chancellor when he renewed my appointment. In fact, several of my other friends could not accept it and they cut me off. A few have begun speaking to me again, but I no longer care for their regard.”

She said, “You hated Urien too.”

“Of course I did,” he said. His face had turned hard, the angles of the graceful bones standing out against his pale skin. “Passionately. It kept me awake at night. It poisoned the savor of my meals. But the Dark Fae and the welfare of Adriyel meant more to me than my own rancor. I tempered Urien’s actions whenever I possibly could, went behind his back when I thought I could get away with it, and did everything in my power to help steer the congress and the courts on a steady path.”

Xanthe set aside her spoon. She said carefully, “I respect Niniane as my Queen, and in a very short time, I have grown to love her, so please do not mistake what I say. What you did has not gone unrecognized. I, along with everybody that I know, hoped that you would be crowned king. Those so-called friends of yours—while their first reaction was understandable, to go all that time without speaking to you was exceedingly short sighted, judgmental and cruel.”

The hardness eased gradually from his face as he listened. He gave her a faint smile that was little more than a crinkling of his eyes at the edges. “Thank you.” He scraped the bottom of his bowl. “This was a delicious meal, and the company was even more delightful. I absolutely refuse to fall asleep again.”