Page 44 of The Dead Queen

I smile at him as I turn to walk back out of the kennels, taking my light with me. The first foxhounds stir from sleep around me. Their snarls echo up the stairs as I walk, thinking of moths and foxes.

And hungry Wolves that look at me like they want to taste my flesh.

Chapter 15

I’m sitting at a long table covered in sweets: powder pink treats; pies piled with mountains of fluffy, white meringue; and crystal cups filled with silky, blue and yellow mousse. Near my elbow, there’s a bowl of candies decorated to look like foxes. Their little beady eyes stare at me blankly.

I vaguely wonder if I’ve stepped into a confectioner’s dream.

“Everything must be perfection at the royal wedding,” a tiny man in a chef’s uniform says. “We cannot be lackadaisical about cakes.”

Next to me, Hunter whispers. “No, certainly not that.”

I elbow him for what feels like the fifth time in as many minutes. He laughs, his eyes light and playful in a way I haven’t seen in a long time. He’s wearing a traditional red shirt of the royally betrothed. My scarlet dress pinches my ribs. It’s not exactly the most comfortable choice for an afternoon sampling wedding cakes.

“First up,” the chef says. “Is the cake that I call the Heavenly Highness.” He gives a grand, full-body gesture toward a servant, who quickly brings two dessert plates from the back of the room. The plates display perfect slices of white cake topped with pink frosting and a tiny candy-spun strawberry.

I raise an eyebrow as Hunter immediately pops his sugar strawberry into his mouth.

“Mmm,” he nods. “Heaven, indeed.” He picks up his fork eagerly.

The chef beams. “I will leave you both to discuss.” He steps backwards about a half-dozen feet to give us “privacy”. Why anyone needs privacy to eat a cake is beyond me. It’s not like we’re ingesting political secrets. Though, maybe …

I keep my face controlled as I place a napkin over my lap like a proper lady. “Have you read anything interesting lately?” I ask with one eyebrow raised. I play with the silver moth around my neck pointedly.

Hunter looks up at me, his cheeks full of white cake. “I haven’t had time,” he says after he swallows. He scoops another huge fork full.

While Hunter’s been busy with King’s Guard duties, I’ve hardly slept. I spent the past day and night reading everything I could find about moths. There are plenty of ancient field sketches and biological notes from insect enthusiasts … but nothing about their symbology or potential relevance to a woman I believe to have been murdered.

My disappointment must show on my face.

“Your Highness?” the chef asks. “Is it not to your liking?”

I blink up at him.

“The cake.” He gestures toward my plate.

“Oh!” I pick up my fork. “My apologies, I was lost in … my … my betrothed’s eyes. That’s all.” I shove a forkful into my mouth. My groan is genuine. My eyes roll as I taste strawberries and cream in baked form. I swallow. “Light as air.”

The chef beams.

Next to me, Hunter scrapes the remains of pink frosting with his fork. “Amazing.”

“We’ll have that one at the wedding,” I say decisively. “It’s perfect.”

The chef shakes his head and tuts. “No, no, no. There are a dozen more to try before you decide.”

“A dozen?” I ask, not sure if he’s joking.

“A dozen.” The chef nods. He gestures to the servants to clear the plates and bring out the next round. They buzz about like late-summer bees in black and white uniforms. Silver platters clink and fabric swishes softly as they move with practiced efficiency.

This cake is as dark as the forest at night with a glistening chocolate glaze on top that’s smooth as a mirror and reflects the warm sunlight. The rich aroma of cocoa and toasted nuts wafts through the air, making my mouth water.

“Toasted almond and chocolate,” the chef says, beaming with pride. “I call it The Lover’s Tryst.”

“I love getting married,” Hunter says, taking a bite. “And you, of course,” he adds as an afterthought, his words slightly muffled by the cake.

I can’t help but smile.