But now he was failing Ludmilla. She’d written to him of her engagement because she wanted his advice. She wanted him to meet her fiancé, to take measure of the man and tell her that her marriage with the man would be successful, if not happy.
And Luka had no desire to leave Kamenev. Even the thought of travelling to the capital and standing up in court made his hands clammy and his chest tight.
As his thoughts swirled in a mix of guilt and anxiety, the doors to his study were thrown open, and Maya appeared before him.
“Luka!” she called, looking unaccountably bright eyed, despite the late hour. “You’ve been hiding in here long enough—”
She broke off as his scowl deepened, and while his expression did not change, Luka felt a moment of surprise. They had known each other for so long that his scowls, while they may have terrified anyone else, had ceased to have any effect on her.
“When was the last time you ate?” Maya asked him, a frown on her own face.
He blinked, the scowl lifting as he thought. “I remember eating veal...”
“That was lunch! Nearly six hours ago!” she cried, giving him an exasperated look. “I came in here thinking I would have to push you into finishing everything on your dinner tray, but now I see you didn’t even ask for one to be brought to you.”
Luka looked around, and then realized that the tray that Stoffel had emptied had been cleared away, perhaps without him even realizing it. He’d hoped to stave Maya off with the lie that the tray had been his, but he was out of luck.
“Come on, Luka. I’m not going to let you go without getting some food into you.”
As if on cue, his stomach rumbled loudly, and Luka frowned. His body’s demands for sustenance forced him to capitulate, despite himself. Heaving a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, his right hand scrabbling for his cane.
Maya watched as he shuffled out from behind his desk, and down the study to the door. As soon as he had clicked the door shut behind him, Maya caught hold of his arm and started to tug him down the corridor with her.
“I know where the kitchens are, thank you,” he snapped at her, snatching his arm away. “I do live here, after all.”
She lifted a disdainful eyebrow at him as she preceded him down the stairs. “Forgive me,” she said mock sweetly. “I thought you might have forgotten, distracted as you are with all the alcohol that’s taken up permanent residence in your bloodstream.”
“Maya...” he ground out, fury rising like a dark tide, but then they were in front of the kitchens and she walked in before he could continue.
He chose to drop the matter for the moment, not wanting to cause a scene in front of the one lone servant still awake and tending to the fire.
The man looked surprised to see two nobles—one of them a prince of the realm, no less—in the kitchens at that hour, but his face was a study in astonishment when Maya briskly ordered him to prepare a bowl of the stew that was currently simmering over the fire.
“But that's only for the night watchmen who will be along in a moment,” the man stammered. “It's not fit for you, my lady—”
“Oh, it's not for me,” she assured the nervous man. “It's for him,” she went on, indicating Luka with a less than polite jerk of her head.
The cook looked more distressed than ever. “But—theprince! I couldn't—”
“He missed having a proper dinner with the rest of us, so he can just make do with what's available,” Maya replied breezily, and after a fearful look at Luka, the man complied.
Soon, Luka was sitting down to a steaming bowl of stew and a hunk of bread, with Maya seated across from him at the scarred old table, even as the cook sat by the fire, watching them with wondering eyes.
Ordinarily he would never have compromised the dignity of his position as the King’s son and Commander of the Stoneheart regiment by sitting down at a servant's table—but now that the food was before him, Luka’s stomach gave a throb and he realized just how hungry he was.
Luka bolted down a bite of bread, and hissed when he raised the spoon with the still hot stew to his lips.
Maya made a sound of impatience. “Can't you see it's hot? He just took it off the fire!’ She waved a hand. “Just use your magic to cool it down, you idiot.”
Luka recalled the incantation, one of the first that most children gifted with magic were taught. Murmuring the words, he passed a quick hand over the hot stew, dragging the bowl back.
“Thank you,” he said finally with poor grace, and Maya nodded. He took a mouthful of the now pleasantly warm stew.
“You're welcome,” she said quietly, and he looked up to see her eyes soft and dark in the flickering flames that did a poor job of illuminating the kitchen.
“Luka,” she went on softly, “please—let me in. Talk to me.”
He didn't miss the uncharacteristic hesitancy. He looked up again and saw that her gaze was unguarded and worried.
