Aleric shot him a faintly disbelieving look. Jaime had shoved the book between the cushions earlier, and he didn’t feel like digging it out.
“I’m supposed to rest if I’m tired, get enough sleep, and drink water. I can continue my daily activities for the most part. She advises I stop alcohol entirely or at least cut down and be entirely off it within a week or two. She doesn’t think alcohol is healthy for a baby, and it doesn’t matter what kind.”
Jaime had heard of that. Supposedly, the baby got a bit of everything the parent had, and that went for alcohol too. Drinking while pregnant made the baby drunk, and if one wouldn’t give a newborn a mug of ale, why pass it to them in the uterus?
Not everyone believed the baby could get drunk before being born.
“I think it makes sense,” continued Aleric. “It’ll get energy from the food I eat, hydration from water, and drunk from any alcohol I consume. My Mother refused alcohol too, and a lack of it certainly isn’t harmful to anyone. And since I’m not going to lunch, the baby will be fine with one skipped meal, and I’ll get something later.”
“Uh, why are you skipping lunch? Do you feel sick?”
“I’m tired,” snapped Aleric. “I just spent ages telling you…things, and I have to tell Father later. I’m tired, I don’t feel well, and I don’t have the energy to go down to the Hall and act normal.”
“I’ll go downstairs and get us a plate,” Jaime said hurriedly. “It’s almost lunch. If you ever want anything, tell me.”
Aleric stood. “I’m sure you feel like running around for me now.”
“I want to eat too, and if you want anything, just tell me, and I will go get it for you. I don’t care what it is. Haven’t I gotten you food before?”
Aleric paused. “Yeah.”
“If you wait too long to eat or skip meals, that’s not going to make you feel better. Even if you don’t like me, it’s my job to take care of you and make sure you have anything you need.”
Aleric didn’t look convinced. He probably expected Jaime to forget that declaration in two minutes, bitch at him, and tell him to fetch his own food.
“I want ginger with my meal.”
***
Aleric appeared surprised by the pile of pickled ginger on his plate.
Jaime had meant it when he said he’d get anything Aleric needed or wanted. His future husband might insist on a divorce later and make him go live in the city, but in the meantime, he’d take care of Aleric the best he could. That was what a man and Father should do.
Aleric picked at the chicken, polished off the ginger, ate the cinnamon-buttered bread, and ignored the rest.
Jaime finished his food and leaned over since Aleric hadn’t eaten a lot. “What do you want?”
“What?”
“What do you want to eat?”
“I just ate.”
“Not a lot. I’ll tell the servants to make it. If savory stuff isn’t appetizing, I’ll bring you whatever you want even if you just nibble on it during the afternoon.”
The suspicious expression returned. “You’re going to go all of the way downstairs again?”
“For you, yes.”
“Fine. I want bread with norben, not butter. No cinnamon.”
Jaime returned with a plate to find Lord Monet in the sitting room.
“What on Ymir’s dirt is that?” He eyed the plate loaded with bread. Jaime had smeared the buttery spread on himself.
“I-I had a hankering for bread,” said Jaime. “With norben.”
Lord Monet glanced at the two plates on the table in front of the couch. “You just had lunch.”
