Page 23 of Spar of Hearts

“You want my thoughts on which of your knights should accompany us?” Anya raised a brow.

Roderick choked on the swallow and coughed. Of all the questions it could have been. His mind darted around for a branch of rationale to grasp. “I-I just mean you got to know a few of them during the evacuation. I want you to feel confident in my selection.” He tried not to sputter the words.

“Are not all your knights competent with a sword?”

He gaped his mouth to fire back, but was mercifully saved by servants scurrying in. They set silver plates before each of them: quail stuffed with currants and barley, scalloped potatoes with garlic and fennel, snap peas, and steaming rolls with honeyed butter. For the first time in weeks, he did not feel dragged along in a rut, appetite long behind him.

If Anya wanted to spar with tongues, he needed energy. He needed to focus. Dishware clinked as the servants were dismissed and everyone began to eat.

“I know their abilities are unmatched, except by myself. But if there are particular knights or dames in my command that you favor, I shall ensure they accompany us.” He straightened his shoulders and took a polite bite of quail.

Anya swallowed and answered immediately. “I am quite fond of Sir Oshfeldt and Dame Fletcher, and they get on well with my lady-in-waiting.”

“That is all well and good, Your Highness, but irrelevant, as your lady-in-waiting will not accompany us this time. She is far too fragile for a journey like this.”

Anya glowered at him. “Lady Rowan acts as my scribe. We need to chart our way to the north so we can find our way back. Only she understands my astronomical dictation. Not that you would know. You weren’t the one on deck in the middle of the night last time, keeping us on course.” She wiped a tinge of currant juice from her lips with a white cloth napkin, and the response forming in his mind went right with it.

“Anya,” the King’s voice knocked Roderick’s brain back into action, “not everyone is a creature of the night like yourself.” He chuckled softly. There was little regale to his tone, unlike before the Council. It was endearing to see a softer side to their kingdom’s figurehead. Roderick should have guessed that, of course. Adrian Delemond wasn’t just a king. He had married into the royal family. He had been someone’s son, then a stone mason, and now a king and a father.

Roderick aimed a fanged smile at Anya. It had always seemed to throw her off kilter aboard the Lupus Star. It was fair fire now. “If it pleases Her Highness, I will enlist Sir Oshfeldt and Dame Fletcher. Sir Oshfeldt accompanied me here today, and I will send a hawk to Dame Fletcher.”

Predictably, Anya’s cheeks reddened as her eyes darted to his fangs. She seemed to find the display brazen, unbecoming. But it was normal for a Centarian to have their fangs out. Or at least, it used to be. She should know that, having caught her poring over the anatomical texts and tomes that were once restricted to the Priestess Supreme’s eyes only. Or perhaps she had read of the pleasure the giver and receiver experienced during the exchange of blood, and seeing his fangs beckoned the thought.

He scoffed to himself. No. Of course not. She surely thinks me ill-mannered. The tinge on her cheeks must be the rouge of rage.

The Queen chuckled and leaned toward him. “When Anya was little, we were constantly up in the middle of the night trying to find where she’d wandered.”

“Mother…” Anya rolled her eyes.

“It’s true.”

It seemed a meal was all it took to soften everyone’s regal temperament. They were joking and eating not with royal aplomb, but rather like two parents meeting their daughter’s friend for the first time.

He had, at one time, wished to be more than that. He had considered Anya a friend. But they were far from that now. He probably had no business calling her by name even during their upcoming expedition, but if it needled her, all the better.

He wanted to be in her thoughts, one way or another. Good or bad. He didn’t understand it, but just knowing he was on her mind from time to time filled him with satisfaction.

“Back to business,” the King started. “Is there a particular ship and crew you want for this voyage?”

“The Lupus Star,” Roderick and Anya said in unison. Roderick flinched. He would have preferred to disagree with Anya, but the expedition needed the best, and the crew of the Lupus Star was next to none. They both knew that.

“Finally, something you two agree on.” The King smiled almost knowingly, then took a bite of a roll.

The Queen continued the thought. “We will find out where they are and arrange for them to meet you at the port of Little Wing.”

“How did you get here, Lord Bryson? I would have thought you sailed here on the Lupus Star.” Anya punctuated the words with a sip of mead.

“We flew,” he answered curtly.

“You…flew?”

“Yes.” He took a bite of potatoes and chewed on the silence that followed. But the awkwardness he made Anya feast on made it taste all the better.

“How…efficient.” Anya filled the quiet with a bite of quail.

“Yes.”

Silverware clinked as they stared each other down.