He reached for it with a gentle hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “No one is watching you. Even if they were, and they could see you behind that mask, don’t worry about them. Just laugh. Be as loud as you want.”
Though I couldn’t resume laughing, I let out the pent-up breath I seemed to have been holding in for as long as I could remember. “Chortling is such a funny-sounding word, too.”
“Then whoever came up with it should be commended. I take issue with words that don’t match their meaning.”
“Like what?”
“Like our old friend the funny bone turning out to be a nerve. Or peanuts not being nuts.”
“They’re not?” I exclaimed.
He shook his head. “But they are similar to peas, so they have that small accuracy making up for it.”
“I now remember my mother once told me that walnuts weren’t nuts either, that they’re closer to dates.”
“I’m assuming you’re not referring to calendar dates.”
“Dates are eastern fruits that grow on palm trees…” I stopped as it hit me this could point to my identity. The common Arborean would have never heard of palm trees, let alone what fruit they bore.
The Grand Duke only hummed. “Interesting. You said your mother was the queen’s lady-in-waiting. Would that make her Cahramani as well?”
My lungs emptied in a rush of relief at his deduction. “Yes. Yes, that would.”
So this was how Ada must have felt! Whenever people went along with her lies, reaching their own conclusions, and unwittingly smoothing her path. Subterfuge was nerve-wracking, but it also had its satisfying moments.
Still, I must divert this back to him. “What about you, Mr.…?”
“Call me Reynard.”
So he’d come ready with a false name, too.
Two can play that game, Grand Duke Nikolai.
But before I could press my question about his origins, and hopefully get a true answer, he added, “And you are?”
Disappointed that he’d swung this back to me, I mumbled, “Zafira.”
“Sounds like ‘sapphire.’”
“That’s exactly what it is,” I said, forgetting my disappointment, once again impressed by the versatility of his general knowledge.
“A brave decision on your parents’ part—not naming you after a flower.”
So he also knew of the custom to name Arborean girls after flowers, since Arbore was the “flower capital of the world.”
My father had wanted to name me after the fabled briar rose, to signify my rare birth—the first princess born to Arbore in seven generations. My mother had put her foot down, since he’d named Leander, insisting on continuing her family’s tradition of honoring Queen Zafira, by naming girls after gems and precious metals. She and my aunt Loujaïne were Emerald and Silver, respectively.
I was named Fairuza for the turquoise of my eyes, a stone that symbolized victory in Cahraman. Ironic, since I hadn’t had much of that in my life, not to mention my most recent and crushing defeat.
The final defeat could be two weeks away. If I didn’t secure my companion’s declaration of love. And I must. I would.
If I could remember I should be impressing him, not the other way around.
But it was impossible to be measured or calculating around him. It was all I could do not to blurt out the whole truth every time I opened my mouth.
For now, in response to his latest comment, I said, “It if helps, one of my middle names is Rose.”
“So how do you say ‘rose’ in Cahramani?”
“Gol,” I said, thickening my accent to stress the vowel. “Roses are important in both of my parents’ lands.”
“I’ve heard of rosewater being used in eastern sweets. Never got the chance to try any, though.”
“That’s a travesty!” I declared in mock-indignation. “I’ll bring you some myself, so we can rectify this shocking situation.”
“How generous of you.” He gave a deep mock-bow, before he straightened to gaze down at me. “Now we have one thing left to settle.”
“And that is?”
He poked me gently. “Getting a good laugh out of you.”
I instead fell mute, my every nerve jangling from the simple contact. Physical spontaneity was unknown to me, even with Leander and my parents. But in the past hour, Reynard, or Nikolai, had touched me more than I’d been touched all my life. And there had been nothing encroaching or exploitative in any of his gestures, like it had been with Björn and Lycaon. Every gesture had been protective, attentive, supportive—for me. About me.
Not much in my life had been for me or about me.
Throat tightening with the tears I hadn’t been able to shed since the day I’d realized I’d lost the Bride Search,