Page 2 of The Winner's Crime
“Then you must eat it all.”
But how to finish the cream if the fork continued to dissolve each time she took a mouthful? Most of the fork remained in her hand, but it wouldn’t last.
A game. The dessert was a game, the conversation a game. The emperor wanted to see how she would play.
He said, “I think the end of this month would be ideal for a wedding.”
Kestrel ate more of the cream. The tines completely vanished, leaving something that resembled an aborted spoon. “A winter wedding? There will be no flowers.”
“You don’t need flowers.”
“If you know that young ladies like dessert, you must also know that they like flowers.”
“I suppose you’d prefer a spring wedding, then.”
Kestrel lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Summer would be best.”
“Luckily my palace has hothouses. Even in winter, we could carpet the great hall with petals.”
Kestrel silently ate more of the dessert. Her fork turned into a flat stick.
“Unless you want to postpone the wedding,” said the emperor.
“I’m thinking of our guests. The empire is vast. People will come from every province. Winter is a terrible time to travel and spring little better. It rains. The roads become muddy.”
The emperor leaned back in his chair, studying her with an amused expression.
“Also,” she said, “I’d hate to waste an opportunity. You know that the nobles and governors will give you what they can—favors, information, gold—for the best seats at the wedding. The mystery of what I’ll wear and what music will be played will distract the empire. No one would notice if you made a political decision that would otherwise outrage thousands. If I were you, I would enjoy my long engagement. Use it for all it’s worth.”
He laughed. “Oh, Kestrel. What an empre
ss you will be.” He raised his glass. “To your happy union, on the day of Firstsummer.”
She would have had to drink to that, had not Prince Verex entered the dining room and stopped short, his large eyes showing every shift of emotion: surprise, hurt, anger.
“You’re late,” his father said.
“I am not.” Verex’s hands clenched.
“Kestrel managed to be here on time. Why couldn’t you?”
“Because you told me the wrong hour.”
The emperor tsked. “You misremember.”
“You’re making me look the fool!”
“I am making you look nothing of the kind.”
Verex’s mouth snapped shut. His head bobbed on his thin neck like something caught in a current.
“Come,” Kestrel said gently. “Have dessert with us.”
The look he shot her told Kestrel that he might hate his father’s games, but he hated her pity more. He fled the room.
Kestrel toyed with her stub of a sugar fork. Even after the prince’s noisy course down the hall had dwindled into silence, she knew better than to speak.
“Look at me,” the emperor said.
