But her attention was on the prince across from her, who seemed utterly ignored by his father and his own court, shoved down near the end with her and Aedion.
He ate so beautifully, she thought, watching him cut into his roast chicken. Not a drop moved out of place, not a scrap fell on the table. She had decent manners, while Aedion was hopeless, his plate littered with bones and crumbs scattered everywhere, even some on her own dress. She'd kicked him for it, but his attention was too focused on the royals down the table.
So both she and the Crown Prince were to be ignored, then. She looked at the boy again, who was around her age, she supposed. His skin was from the winter, his blue-black hair neatly trimmed; his sapphire eyes lifted from his plate to meet hers.
"You eat like a fine lady," she told him.
His lips thinned and color stained his ivory cheeks. Across from her, Quinn, her uncle's Captain of the Guard, choked on his water.
The prince glanced at his father-still busy with her uncle-before replying. Not for approval, but in fear. "I eat like a prince," Dorian said quietly.
"You do not need to cut your bread with a fork and knife," she said. A faint pounding started in her head, followed by a flickering warmth, but she ignored it. The hall was hot, as they'd shut all the windows for some reason.
"Here in the North," she went on as the prince's knife and fork remained where they were on his dinner roll, "you need not be so formal. We don't put on airs."
Hen, one of Quinn's men, coughed pointedly from a few seats down. She could almost hear him saying, Says the little lady with her hair pressed into careful curls and wearing her new dress that she threatened to skin us over if we got dirty.
She gave Hen an equally pointed look, then returned her attention to the foreign prince. He'd already looked down at his food again, as if he expected to be neglected for the rest of the night. And he looked lonely enough that she said, "If you like, you could be my friend." Not one of the men around them said anything, or coughed.
Dorian lifted his chin. "I have a friend. He is to be Lord of Anielle someday, and the fiercest warrior in the land.
He ate so beautifully, she thought, watching him cut into his roast chicken. Not a drop moved out of place, not a scrap fell on the table. She had decent manners, while Aedion was hopeless, his plate littered with bones and crumbs scattered everywhere, even some on her own dress. She'd kicked him for it, but his attention was too focused on the royals down the table.
So both she and the Crown Prince were to be ignored, then. She looked at the boy again, who was around her age, she supposed. His skin was from the winter, his blue-black hair neatly trimmed; his sapphire eyes lifted from his plate to meet hers.
"You eat like a fine lady," she told him.
His lips thinned and color stained his ivory cheeks. Across from her, Quinn, her uncle's Captain of the Guard, choked on his water.
The prince glanced at his father-still busy with her uncle-before replying. Not for approval, but in fear. "I eat like a prince," Dorian said quietly.
"You do not need to cut your bread with a fork and knife," she said. A faint pounding started in her head, followed by a flickering warmth, but she ignored it. The hall was hot, as they'd shut all the windows for some reason.
"Here in the North," she went on as the prince's knife and fork remained where they were on his dinner roll, "you need not be so formal. We don't put on airs."
Hen, one of Quinn's men, coughed pointedly from a few seats down. She could almost hear him saying, Says the little lady with her hair pressed into careful curls and wearing her new dress that she threatened to skin us over if we got dirty.
She gave Hen an equally pointed look, then returned her attention to the foreign prince. He'd already looked down at his food again, as if he expected to be neglected for the rest of the night. And he looked lonely enough that she said, "If you like, you could be my friend." Not one of the men around them said anything, or coughed.
Dorian lifted his chin. "I have a friend. He is to be Lord of Anielle someday, and the fiercest warrior in the land.
( Sarah J. Maas )
[ Heir of Fire ]
www.QuoteSweet.com