I grinned as I caught a glimpse of my father, his arms buried all the way to his elbows in a thick pillow of bread dough as he concentrated on kneading and pulling and twisting the mass, forcing it to conform beneath his insistent hands. Some things, it seemed, would never change.
A woman in the kitchen staff caught me standing in the doorway and dropped into a curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
My father glanced up from his task. “Spying now, are we?”
I stepped all the way into the immense kitchens, Zafir remaining silent by my side.
The palace kitchens were a far cry from the kitchen my father had once worked in—the one in our family restaurant. Here, he had seventeen ovens, five enormous sinks, and an endless stretch of counter space on which to work.
Yet even though he refused to stop working in the kitchens, he had acclimated to this life much faster than I had. He looked younger, healthier, happier than he had in years. Maybe ever. Even the callouses on his hands had grown less coarse during the weeks since he’d stopped toiling at our family restaurant.
I smiled. “Just wondering why you can’t find something else to fill your time. A hobby or something. Maybe you should take up horseback riding. We could take lessons together.”
Wiping his hands on the well-worn towel that draped from his belt, he met me in the center of the polished marble floor, finer than any of the stone tiling found in the vendors’ part of town. “Yes, I can see that’s working out so well for you.” He reached out and plucked a leaf from my hair as he examined me with a worried expression, surely inspecting the bruise on my cheek that had nothing at all to do with riding. “Are you certain this is something you should be doing?”
I shrugged. It’s not as if I enjoyed the lessons. “That’s what I’m told. If I ever plan to leave this realm, the train lines only extend so far, and until we can establish trade with the other queendoms—those with access to fuel—we don’t have a lot of other options. Sabara’s resistance to technology and change has left us stunted.” Her name tasted like bile on my tongue, leaving a bitter aftertaste that turned my stomach. “Ludania will progress if I have any say in the matter. Even if it means I have to learn to ride a horse. . . .” I shrugged again.
He laid his hand on the side of my face, pressing it to my cheek like he had when I was just a girl. “Well, be careful. It’s admirable that you feel such a strong desire to tend to your country, but you need to take care of yourself as well.” He glared at Zafir, not caring that the guard stood several heads above him. “Your country needs its queen.”
“I’m fine,” I said, and I wondered which of us, exactly, I was trying to convince. “Besides, I think I’m getting better at it. The horse is starting to like me.”
Beside me, Zafir chuckled beneath his breath.
I turned to scowl at him. “What? You don’t know. You weren’t even there.”
Riding lessons were one of the rare occasions Zafir left me in someone else’s hands, mostly, I assumed, because he didn’t care for the horses and only rode when absolutely necessary. Each and every time, though, he told Sebastian that he was under the threat of dismemberment should any harm fall upon me. And although I was sure Zafir was only joking with the boy about injuring him, Sebastian took the giant guard at his word, keeping close watch over me during those lessons.
“I hear things,” Zafir answered. “And the things I hear sound nothing like the things you just said. If it’s possible, I hear you’re actually getting worse.”
My mouth opened to argue, but my father spoke first. “You are supposed to be with her at all times. You are never to leave her unattended.”
Zafir shifted uncomfortably. It would have been almost laughable to see the giant squirm, but just as a smirk found its way to my lips, my father turned on me. “Is that how you’re running things around here? Exposing yourself to danger by roaming about without protection? You put us all in danger by behaving that way, Charlaina. Angelina’s not yet ready to take your place should something happen to you.”
It was impossible not to notice that everyone around us had stopped what they were doing and were listening as my father scolded me. I felt like a child, and my shoulders fell as I dropped my head. He was right, of course. But it wasn’t entirely my fault.
I tried to remind myself that I was the queen, that I was the one who gave orders. This was my queendom. But it didn’t matter. He was still my father.
I shot a scathing look at Zafir. “I wasn’t alone,” I finally answered, but my voice carried no real weight, and even I knew it was a pathetic excuse.
“Really?” If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve sworn my father was enjoying this, letting me know that no matter what my position, I was still his daughter. Honestly, though, I think he was really just worried. “Who was with you? Claude?” he asked, naming another one of the royal guards. “Xander or Max? Because I’m sure it was none of them; I’ve seen them around the palace today. All of them.” He emphasized the last words, making certain I wouldn’t try to lie to him, to appease his fears.
“Sebastian,” I admitted, almost in a whisper.
I knew even before he responded what was coming. “Sebastian?” he said, practically choking. “The stable boy?”
This time I lifted my head to meet his gaze. “He’s the stable master.”
“He’s just a boy!”