Dinner!
It’s fowl, whatever it is. I think it’s goose. It’s not chicken or turkey. Maybe duck. There’s a thick slab on my plate with some kind of plum relish, I think? It tastes like prune juice, but sweeter. Also a little pile of pearl onions, carrots, and peas, which I kind of push around the plate. There are hot crusty rolls and butter, too, and a bowl of barley in cream sauce with chopped up broccoli.
The prince is quiet while we eat.
“What happened to you this afternoon?” I finally ask.
“I was dealing with the resistance,” he says, twisting the word into a curse.
“You looked really torn up when you got back. Or your armor did.”
“This is not a suitable dinner topic. You are a teacher?”
“I am. I was. I don’t know.”
“Please don’t start berating me.”
“I won’t. I’m tired of it. For now, anyway. Yeah, I went to school to teach. I majored in history and after that I was working on a certification and a master’s so I could teach, but I quit to come out here and work with the church teaching English in Solkovia.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to get away from home.”
“You were trying to sell it to me earlier.”
“I thought you didn’t want to fight about whose country is better.”
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “True, I have had enough of fighting for one day. Why did you want to leave?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Is it because of the man you were to marry?”
I bite my lip, not wanting to slip any information about that subject at all, and yet I say, “Yes, that’s why.”
“Did he reject you?”
“No.”
“Then you, him.”
“No.”
“I see.”
“You really don’t. What about you? I saw a painting when I was walking the castle. Was she important to you?”
He bites his lip. It’s a weirdly cute gesture.
“Yes, she was.”
“Was.”
“Was,” he agrees.
“The final kind of was.”
He nods. “That kind, yes.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died. Most people do. As yours did.”
I flinch. “I don’t like talking about that. It hurt me a lot.”
“Enough to flee your democratic paradise and run halfway around the world. I can only imagine. Did it ease your pain? Fleeing?”
I stare at my plate. I don’t feel especially hungry.
“No. It didn’t make it hurt any less, but I could forget about it. The missionary work is very demanding. Long hours, not a lot of down time, and there were always people around.”
“I will make you another deal.”
“What’s that?”
“If you tell me about yours, I will tell you about mine.”
He has that unreadable expression again, like a statue. I can’t meet his gaze, and my eyes fall away.
I sigh and stare down at my lap.
“We met in my junior year. Third year of schooling. We knew each other briefly in high school, flirted a bit, nothing came of it. We started dating in college. It was serious. Very serious.”
“Tell me about when he proposed to you.”
I blink a few times, trying to stop the burning in my eyes.
“We didn’t have a lot of money and our parents didn’t really support us getting together. My parents are hippies.”
“What?”
“Liberals?”
“I understand. Go on.”
I roll my shoulders and suddenly feel very exposed by this damn dress. Why did I pick this one?
“Anyway my mother didn’t think I should get married at all.”
“Why is that?”
I shrug again. “I’d have to give up my last name. Well, I mean, I wouldn’t, there’s no rule that says I have to, lots of people don’t. It’s just the principle of the thing, I guess. I thought it was really hypocritical since she’s married and she seems happy enough with my dad. I think.”
“You do not know?”
“They’re not super affectionate with each other. I don’t know. They’re weird. I’ve never seen them kiss. Sometimes I think I was an accident and my dad stays on to take care of me. Or did. They’re still together. I don’t know. It was just a loveless marriage, he doesn’t care.”
“He has a sense of honor, at least.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t want to be alone. Anyway, in America it’s kind of expected that the bride’s parents pay for the wedding.”
“A dowry?”
“Dude, it’s not a dowry. It’s just a dumb tradition.”
“Did you just call me ‘dude’?”
“Yes, dude. My prince.”
He laughs again, softly. “I can genuinely say I’ve never met anyone like you.”
I go quiet for a minute. Goddamn him to hell, I’m blushing.
“They wouldn’t pay for it and neither of us could afford it. We finally decided we’d elope. Sort of. We announced it. So it wasn’t really eloping. My brother liked my fiancé, though. He was my best friend, my brother.”