He whacked his head on his headboard as he groaned. “Eadlyn, you’re joking, right? You’re the first female heir. You’re unlike anything this country has ever known. You just have to learn how to use that, to remind them who you are.”
I’m Eadlyn Schreave, and no one in the world is as powerful as me.
“I don’t think they’d like me if they knew who I really was.”
“If you’re going to whine, I’ll kick you out.”
“I’ll have you flogged.”
“You’ve been threatening me with that since we were six.”
“One day it’ll happen. Heed my warning.”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry, Eady. The chances of people organizing enough to do anything are slim. They’re venting. Once they get this out of their system, things will go back to normal, you’ll see.”
I nodded and sighed. Maybe I was fretting for nothing, but I could still hear the hateful yelling during the parade, and I could still see the hateful remarks from my kiss with Kile. This certainly wouldn’t be the last we heard about abolishing the monarchy.
“Don’t tell Mom and Dad I know, okay?”
“If you insist.”
I hopped up and kissed Ahren’s cheek. I felt bad for girls who didn’t have brothers. “See you tomorrow.”
He grinned. “Get some sleep.”
I left his room with every intention of going back to mine. But as I walked, I realized I was hungry. Now that I’d been to the kitchens, I kind of liked it down there. I remembered seeing some fruit, and there was cheese in the refrigerator. Certainly it was late enough that it couldn’t bother anyone, so I trotted down the back stairs.
I was wrong in assuming that it would be completely empty. There were a handful of young men and women rolling out dough and chopping vegetables. I took it all in for a moment, entranced by how efficient and driven they were. I loved that, in spite of the hour, they all seemed alert and happy, chatting with one another as they went about their work.
They were so interesting that it took several moments for me to notice the head of floppy blond curls in the back corner of the room. Henri had hung his shirt on a hook, and his blue undershirt was covered in flour. I moved quietly, but as the staff recognized me, they curtsied and bowed as I passed, alerting Henri to my presence.
When he saw me he tried to brush the mess off himself, failing completely. He pushed back his hair and turned to me, smiling as always.
“No Erik?”
“He sleep.”
“Why aren’t you asleep?”
He squinted, trying to piece together the words. “Umm. Sorry. I cook?”
I nodded. “Can I cook, too?”
He pointed to the pile of apples and dough on the table. “You want? You cook?”
“Yes.”
He beamed and nodded. Then, giving me a once-over, he paused before grabbing his dress shirt and wrapping it around me, tying the sleeves together in the back. An apron. He wanted me to have an apron.
I smiled to myself. It was only a nightgown after all, but there weren’t enough words between the two of us to argue over it.
He picked up an apple and took the peel off in one long strip. When he was done, he set it on the counter and picked up a different knife. “Pid?veitsi n?in,” he said, pointing to the way his fingers held the handle. “Pid?omena huolellisesti.” He turned his other hand into a claw, tucking his fingers away as he held the apple. Then he started cutting.
Even with my inexperienced eyes, I could see how he was using the minimum amount of force to do his work and how his simple stance protected his hands.
“You,” he said, passing me the knife.
“Okay. Like this?” I curled my hand up like he had.
“Good, good.”
I wasn’t nearly as fast as he was, and my slices weren’t half as uniform, but by the way he grinned, you’d have thought I made an entire feast by myself.
He worked with the dough and mixed cinnamon and sugar and prepped one of the fryers along the wall.
I wondered if he was in charge of desserts at home or if they were simply his favorite.
I helped toss the apples and stuff the dough, and though I was terrified of the hot oil, I did sink one of the baskets. I squealed when the oil came alive, popping and dancing all over the place. Henri only laughed at me a little, which was kind.
When he finally placed the tray in front of me, I was dying of hunger and nearly too excited to wait. But I did, and he gestured that I should try, so I plucked up one of the fritter-doughnut-pastry things and bit in.
It was heaven, even better than the rolls he’d made the other day. “Oh, yum!” I exclaimed as I chewed. He broke into a laugh and picked one up himself. He seemed pretty satisfied, but I could see in his eyes he was evaluating what he’d made.
I thought they were perfect.
“What are these called?”
“Hmm?”
“Umm, name?” I pointed to the food.
“Oh, omenal?rtsy.”
“Ohmenalortsee?”
“Good!”
“Yeah?”
“Good.”