There is always bed sport, a sly voice in her head reminded her. Drystan and Alistair might not want her running about, but they were highly unlikely to forbid her from that. A flash of heat went through her as she remembered the last time she’d made love with Lucyan. A pang of longing hit her as she remembered he was gone—she hoped he would hurry back soon. Having Drystan and Alistair to cuddle her at night helped, but she felt incomplete without having all three, and longed for the days when they spent time together as one.
“When is the wedding and coronation scheduled?” the healer asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Since you will be showing sooner than most pregnant women, I would advise not waiting too long.”
“You certainly don’t want to wait until after the birth, since the babe is the royal heir,” the midwife added. “Some will consider his birth to be illegitimate, though of course it’s a foolish notion.”
“We haven’t decided on a date yet,” Dareena said, “but I will discuss it with my mates when I see them next.” With the war and all their other problems going on, they had not had time to think about it. But of course they needed to address the problem…and come up with a proper ceremony. She was certain there was no marriage ceremony written that accommodated three grooms and one bride, nor any laws to govern such a strange arrangement. But the dragon god wanted it done this way, and so did the four of them. They would figure it out, one way or the other.
After the midwife and healer finished poking and prodding at her, Dareena brought her ladies-in-waiting back in. “I am famished,” she announced.
“I’ll have the servants bring you some food,” Rantissa said quickly. She moved toward the bell pull, but Dareena held up a hand.
“I think not,” she said, getting to her feet. “The midwife has told me I need to get more exercise, and I do not want to wait so long for the food anyway. Let’s go straight to the kitchens.”
“You cannot be serious,” Lyria protested as Dareena headed for the door.
“I believe she is,” Rantissa muttered.
Dareena ignored them, and the ladies were forced to hurry after her lest they lose her. “My lady,” Soldian protested as they walked, “while none of us mind accompanying you anywhere you wish to go, going to the kitchens directly for some food is beneath our station.”
“If you are worried about getting flour on your skirts,” Dareena said airily, “then feel free to wait outside.”
Lyria snorted. “Nice try, but you won’t be getting rid of us that easily.”
Dareena frowned. Why was Lyria so determined to stick closely to her? It was obvious there was no love lost between them, and yet she stayed by Dareena’s side even when it wasn’t necessary. Did Lyria have an ulterior motive? Or was she just trying to do her job?
“Good morning,” Dareena said cheerfully as she sailed into the kitchen. The cooking staff froze, clearly caught off guard at having the Dragon’s Gift in their midst. “Do you have any fresh bread and juice?”
“Of course, my lady,” the cook said, breaking out of her shock first. She snapped her fingers at her undercook, who immediately sprang into action. “But you didn’t need to come down here. We would have sent the food to your room.”
“I know, but I wanted a change of scenery.” Dareena glanced to the row of stools set up on the other side of the counter. “Might I sit here?”
“You are welcome to sit anywhere,” the cook said, “but we do have a table that would be more suitable.” She gestured to a table behind them and off to the side, big enough to seat four people. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
Dareena hesitated. Part of her wanted to sit on the stool so she could watch the chef work, but the more rational part of her knew that she was making the kitchen staff uncomfortable as it was and that she needed to start acting more queenlike. Her ladies followed her to the table, where they were served juice and fresh bread while the undercooks prepared a proper meal for them.
“Mmm,” Dareena said around a mouthful of hot, buttered sourdough. “This is wonderful.”
“Thank you.” The cook beamed. “This is a new recipe I’m trying, so I am very happy you like it.”
“I would ask you to teach me how to make some,” Dareena said with a smile, “but I think Drystan would have an apoplexy if he saw me in the kitchens, and my ladies would probably quit.” She winked at them, and they had the decency to look a little sheepish, though they did not deny it.
The cook laughed. “I wouldn’t be averse to letting you come down here and bake every once in a while,” she said. “Your predecessor was also a commoner, and she loved to sneak into the kitchens late at night and whip up a batch of cookies when she had trouble sleeping. She claimed it helped her relax.”
“Really?” Dareena blinked. This was the first time anyone had spoken about King Dragomir’s wife; the brothers barely mentioned her, though it was clear they had loved her deeply. She wondered if speaking about her was simply too painful.
“Yes, Lady Galica was quite different from the noblewomen who frequent the court around here,” the cook said fondly. Sadness entered her eyes as she spoke. “It’s a shame she died so young. I wonder if the king would have gone off the deep end if the warlocks had not killed her.”
“I think the dragon sickness was already taking him,” Dareena said softly, unsurprised that word had already spread about the warlocks’ involvement. Now that the nobles had been informed, that information would start spreading like wildfire throughout the kingdom. “But her death accelerated the process.” She would have liked to meet the former Dragon’s Gift, she thought. She was certain her mates’ mother would have all sorts of advice for her, though Dareena did wonder what she would think of all three of her sons marrying the same woman.
“A crying shame.” The cook shook her head in disgust. “I hope that imposter oracle is drawn and quartered once he’s caught.”
Dareena nodded in agreement as she reached for her juice to wash the bread down. As she lifted the cup to her lips, a strange, sour scent wafted from the cup and turned her stomach.
Strange.
“Do you think you could pour me a fresh cup?” Dareena asked, setting the mug down. “Something smells a bit off.”
“Certainly.” The cook frowned, taking the glass. “Nari, can you fetch the lady a new mug?”
“A new mug?” The undercook hurried over. She frowned as she took the mug and peered into it. “I don’t smell anything wrong with this,” she said, taking a deep whiff.
“Nari!” the cook exclaimed, sounding scandalized. “You would dare contradict the Dragon’s Gift? I ought to dock your wages!”
“I don’t mean to offend,” Dareena said gently. She had a feeling that the undercook had brewed the juice herself. “My sense of smell has changed significantly since being pregnant. You may not be able to tell anything is amiss, but there is definitely something wrong. Perhaps the cup has merely not been washed properly?”
“I am more than happy to get you a new mug, my lady,” the undercook said, bowing her head. “It merely seems like a waste to throw this away, but then again, I can just drink it myself.” She brought the cup to her lips and drained the mug in one go.