feeling that’s dangerously mutual. “Did you cook all this?”
He scrunches his nose in disgust. “Of course not. I have someone who does that.”
“Yet the castle seems so empty.” I take my seat, and he takes his. “I’ve wondered who does all the cooking.”
“There are inner passages. Think of them like a castle within a castle. The servants operate there. Very few can be seen on this side.” He pauses, eyes flicking to mine. “Magic helps as well.”
“Magic helps,” I repeat with a laugh. “I suppose it would.”
“Well, I know you cannot summon a rack of lamb with a thought in your world.”
“Can you—”
Before I can finish, Eldas lifts his hand, motioning to the corner of the room. A blue mist collects on his fingers, mirroring a small cloud in the corner. With a blustery burst, it condenses into—sure enough—a rack of lamb.
“Enjoy, Hook.” Eldas leans back in his chair, swirls his glass, and takes a swig. When he catches my stare he bursts out in laughter. “You didn’t think I could.”
“How?”
“I learned the true name of that rack of lamb, and I can create duplicates of it.”
As he speaks, Hook gnaws on the offering.
I have a thousand questions, but all I can muster saying is, “You must really like lamb.”
Eldas blurts out laughter and quickly covers his mouth with a hand. His embarrassed expression leads to my own outburst. Suddenly, we’re laughing together.
“How have there ever been any food issues in Midscape if that can be done?”
“Only elves can do it, and very few among us possess the skill. And that food is not nearly as nourishing as something natural—something real.” He stares at me over the top of his glass as he takes a swig. Something about the muscles in his throat contracting is oddly entrancing.
I quickly return to my food, changing the topic to learn more about the upcoming springtime rites. Eldas is eager to tell me, especially about his part in them. He lingers on his duties as the Elf King—how he opens and closes the ceremonies, how he is seen as presenting the queen as the bringer of spring. I can’t help but smile as he goes on and on.
He’s genuinely excited to be king, to finally rule. And yet…we’re working on ending the cycle. I will not be here to see these springtime rites. I will not be presented.
As we talk, we help ourselves to the spread. Eldas is a proper gentleman, almost to the point that I’m uncomfortable. He makes it a point to see my drink is refilled whenever it’s low—which is often, since the mead is sweet and effervescent. He serves me when I express interest in trying something.
As we tuck in, I’m not surprised to find everything is delicious. The food in Midscape is its own sort of magic. All the flavors seem brighter, more unique and rich. Had I truly tasted anything before coming here?
“I hear you’re helping in the greenhouse.” Eldas makes an attempt at small talk.
“Willow has been good to me.” I instantly rise to his defense, even though there was nothing in Eldas’s tone that would suggest I couldn’t be assisting. “Not only has he let me help with the plants, but he’s given me access to the past queens’ journals and taught me more about elf magic.”
He tilts his head slightly when I bring up the journals. “Yes, I’ve heard you’ve made the place your own. Even to the point that rumor of the queen’s ability to heal ailments has spread through town.”
“I’m sure I’m not the first queen to do so.” I think back to the small poultice I crafted for the cabinetmaker.
“Queens do not have an interest in meeting with the common folk of Quinnar, or common folk in general.”
I snort at the remark.
Eldas sets down his fork and arches his eyebrows. “Did I say something amusing?”
“It’s not that queens don’t have an interest, but they haven’t been allowed to have an interest.”
“That is untrue.”
“Oh?” I grin. The expression slips across my flushed cheeks a little too easily. What number glass of mead is this? “Perhaps you should read some of the past queens’ journals. You may find their lives enlightening. If you’re making an effort to get to know me, then you could do the same with them.”
“I made an effort with Alice.”
“Did you really?” I grin, but abandon the expression when his tone becomes unexpectedly thoughtful.
He hesitates, voice suddenly heavy and sad. “She… She was a kind woman.”