Total pages in book: 208
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
And she ordered rose and cedar incense.
She then called for the royal seamstresses.
For they were making a different wedding gown.
59
The Worth
Queen Silence
The Corridor, Cord Cottage, The Arbor
WODELL
I carried the tray bearing the tea service myself, for the servants had again gone missing.
Or, not missing, precisely.
I knew where they were.
I was just ignoring it.
(Or trying to do so.)
An endeavor destined to fail, I realized, when I walked into the drawing room and saw my father standing, gazing out the window.
“The tea is ready,” I called false brightly.
He turned and scowled at me, continuing to do so as he watched me set the service down on the table between the two leather chesterfields that were positioned perpendicular to the fire.
I’d always loved Cord Cottage, especially the drawing room.
And particularly the fireplace.
The dark, shining wood above it had carvings of ancient Dellish soldiers at war with Firenze (something Mars had smiled most amusedly at when he saw it). The stone columns that held these protruding friezes up with their carved-stone panels at the sides. The recessed fireplace with its heavy irons that heated the room so well.
When we’d arrived, I’d remembered something I had forgotten.
This being, I had, at one point in my life, when I was much, much younger, daydreamed about marrying a wealthy shepherd or arborist and moving here, away from Bower Manor (and my father).
And now I was here, with a king as husband.
And I was not away from my father.
“You’ve been gone ages. Did you actually make the tea?” he demanded crossly.
“I’m enjoying doing some domesticated things, Father,” I lied.
Well, it wasn’t truly a lie. There was something relaxing about making tea, letting your mind blank as you waited for the kettle to boil, watching the water brown as it ran through the strainer.
Accomplishing something, even something as small as making tea.
It was something.
I’d never really done that, I realized, after the servants Father had employed to look after us at the cottage found other things to occupy their time, so it was up to me to do a few things for myself.
Tril had told me repeatedly to get the maids in hand.
And she’d be furious if she knew I did not call on them to make tea (fortunately, right then she was in the village, finding some material to make a gown for me for True and Farah’s wedding, as well as visiting some friends).
And I really should do that. I’d have a whole palace to manage when we returned to Firenze.
But at that juncture, I just…couldn’t.
“I understand why you’re ignoring that,” Father stated, jerking his head haughtily to the window. “But you really shouldn’t, even if he seems to vastly enjoy it.”
I heard the noise drifting in through the closed window.
Speaking of domesticated things, my husband had taken to chopping wood.
We needed a good deal of it to heat the cottage.
That said, we had a groom who took care of the horses, the stables and manly things around the house, like fire starting and wood stocking.
When I inquired after it, Mars said it kept him fit.
I did not think this was why he did it.
I allowed my eyes to glance out the window.
Yes, there were our servant girls, all three of them, admiring the King of Firenze as he chopped wood at the same time they were babbling at Kyril who stood near.
I had noted these past few days, these girls didn’t care whose attention they caught, including any one of the hundreds of handsome, brawny Firenz warriors camped around the wood.
But if given the choice, they clearly wished to have their skirts tossed by a king.
It was ludicrous.
Mars.
Chopping wood.
For an audience!
It was more ludicrous Mars allowed it.
I sat on the edge of a chesterfield and turned my attention to pouring tea.
“Come, Father, before it gets cold,” I urged.
“You should come,” he replied, moving my way. “Home,” he finished. “At least for dinner. If that barbarian wishes to sit at our table, he is my daughter’s husband, I’ll allow it. But seeing as he enjoys attention so very much, letting you spend time in your home with your mother and father, it will give him the time to have as much attention as he likes without the distraction of his wife.”
I miraculously kept my hand from shaking as I offered him his cup and saucer after he’d seated himself across from me, and I did this murmuring, “I wish you wouldn’t call Mars a barbarian.”
“He’s shirtless outside, Silence,” he declared.
“Chopping wood is onerous work. Even the men at Bower Manor take off their shirts when they do it.”
“Not when I’m home.”
This was, thinking back, correct.
“And not,” he continued, “now as I know they’re doing it.”
“His people do not wear very many clothes,” I reminded him.
“And the man crossed the Dellish border some time ago, daughter,” he reminded me. “We put up with his idiosyncrasies when we were in his country. He’s in ours and should show some respect.”