The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(81)

Her brows rose. “You want to spend hours with me and go on a picnic three days before your grand ball? Your mother would kill you.”

“My mother will get what she wants. I’ll do what I have to for the good of the kingdom.” He leaned closer to her. “But what I said yesterday at the docks about seizing the moment? I meant it. And I haven’t been doing it. Neither have you. I want one day with you, Blue. Just one. Besides, we have to know if the wraith is still locked away before we know how to continue to search for the missing children.”

West. To look for Ana and the other children, and to pray they found the wraith locked away where it should be. And to spend hours alone with Kellan. To have a picnic and seize the moment.

Her pulse raced at the thought, and she turned to pour four even circles of batter on her hot skillet. The homey scent of frying apples and vanilla cake surrounded her, reminding her of waking on weekend mornings to Papa making an extravagant breakfast for just the two of them, and sudden tears stung her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Kellan asked quietly.

She sniffed. “I’m fine.”

He took the spatula off the counter, edged it under the cakes as bubbles formed and popped along the top, and flipped them as if he spent every morning cooking himself breakfast in the castle.

Maybe he did. She wouldn’t wish his appetite on any cook in the kingdom.

“Are you crying because I want to take you on a picnic or because you’re cooking apple cakes?”

She dashed an errant tear off her cheek. “Papa made these on weekends.”

He rested his hand on the small of her back and rubbed it in gentle circles for a moment before stepping back. “Remember that time he left extra cakes under a towel on the counter?”

“And you and your friend Michel crept in through the open kitchen window and stole the lot.” She smiled.

“We crept back out the window, thinking we’d scored the best meal of our lives, preparing to take it to the makeshift tree fort we were building at the back of your orchard, and there was Pierre, standing right behind us, a bucket of water in his hands.”

Her smile stretched wider. “I’d never heard you scream like that.”

He assumed a regal expression. “I’m a prince. I never scream. Even when a bucket of cold water is thrown over my head, ruining my stash of stolen apple cakes.”

She laughed and bumped him out of the way so she could slide the cakes onto a plate. “And then Papa took you both inside, made you clean the kitchen, and then promptly cooked you lunch.”

He accepted the plate from her and began hunting for butter and honey.

“It’s already on the table.” She waved him toward the table and then sat beside him to the plate of cakes she’d been about to eat when he’d knocked.

“Yours are cold,” he said and tried to switch plates with her.

“I like them cold.” She shoved his plate back in front of him and took a bite. They were good. Nearly as good as Grand-mère’s, which was no small feat seeing as how Grand-mère used her wand to transfigure the ingredients into cake, and Blue was stuck with a bowl and a spoon for the same task.

They ate in companionable silence for a few moments, and the fizzy feeling in Blue’s veins settled into a warm glow.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs as they finished, and Blue hastily checked that the skillet was still hot. Dinah and Jacinthe were both ill-tempered in the mornings when they were hungry.

“Time to go,” Kellan said as he rinsed off the dishes they’d used.

“Go where?” Dinah asked from the doorway. “Are you leaving us already, Prince Kellan? We haven’t even had a chance to say hello. Or perhaps your mother has told you there’s no need to be courteous to us anymore given our current financial situation.”

Dinah’s words sounded defeated, but her expression was lit with the same kind of vicious fervor that had sent Blue down into the root cellar hunting for her mother’s old recipes.

Kellan met Dinah’s eyes, his voice quiet. “A person’s wealth doesn’t dictate how much courtesy they’re owed. A person’s treatment of others, however, does.”

Dinah moved to sit at the table. “Where is my breakfast, Blue?”

“In the batter bowl,” Kellan said before Blue could turn toward the stove. “The skillet is hot. I just flipped my own cakes and can testify that it is remarkably easy to do. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it. Come on, Blue.”

“Where are you taking her?” Dinah demanded. “There’s work to be done. A ball to prepare for. Maybe we aren’t in the running for the betrothal anymore, but we still have appearances to keep up, and Blue is needed to help get my daughters’ gowns ready.”

“Blue and I are going out.” Kellan held Dinah’s gaze. “We’ll be gone most of the day, so you’ll need to see to the gowns yourself. I’m sure, just like flipping cakes in a skillet, it’s a skill you’ll easily acquire.”

Kellan offered his arm to Blue. “Shall we get started? It’s going to be a long day.”

Blue untied Papa’s apron and hung it on its hook. Then she scooped up Pepperell, took Kellan’s arm, and walked out of the house. When they reached the porch, she said, “I’m going to leave Pepperell with Grand-mère today. I don’t trust Dinah with him.”