Page 51 of Lady Knight and the Thief
Cypress’s plate was similarly piled nearly as high as Torren's, though with a few items not found on the Prince’s plate. Inaddition to the rack of ribs artfully arranged, several bite-sized arrangements of other meats were placed around the outer rim of Cypress’s plate.
When she cut into the large piece of meat, her knife barely met any resistance. It melted in her mouth, practically dissolving into butter on her tongue. The vegetables were all impeccably cooked and seasoned with herbs she couldn’t name.
Shame coated Cypress’s tongue as she slowly came to realize she had begun this adventure with grossly incorrect assumptions about Faerie, the Wylds, and the Fair Folk. And, she supposed she also had to come to terms with the undeniable bias she held toward Cade, Queen Henrietta, and King Caelith.
But, for tonight, she would put all of that aside and just enjoy the evening of revelry, the calm before the true storm.
Truly, it had been a terribly long time since Cypress had attended any one of the numerous balls and functions hosted at the Keep and did anything other than watch every single move made within proximity to Prince Cade.
Cypress ate her food, watching the revelry unfolding before her. The musicians had changed songs, opting for a more danceable tune on lyres and flutes. It was as if even the wildlife shifted and swayed with the beat, butterflies and birds flitting through the rafters.
Birdsong amplified the music, and it felt as if Cypress was in the midst of the forest, not in the middle of the castle’s throne room.
Now that Cypress was aware of the nature of the palace, she realized that she was, in a way, in the middle of the forest.
A’aravos Paravale was not only inhabited by Fair Folk, but by a Dryaad. A guardian spirit of the Wylds.
“How come you didn’t tell me that the palace was a tree? Or that it had a guardian?” Cypress asked some time after she finished her food, wine nearly gone.
Torren turned away from the conversation he was having with a pale pink Faerie, whose iridescent wings were held aloft behind her, shimmering with dust.
His cheeks were flushed, lids lowered over storm grey eyes. “I didn’t think you would be interested, Lass.”
She gave him a flat look. “Really.”
Torren raised his hands between them. “Honest, Lass. How was I to know you’d care? You haven’t shown much interest in our customs on the roads.”
Cypress opened her mouth to retort, but snapped her teeth shut when she noticed the rakish smile on Torren’s face, the humor in his eyes.
“You’re insufferable,” She said instead. Then she grabbed her nearly empty goblet of wine and reclined in her chair.
“Oh, come now. Don’t be like that,” Torren implored and took a long drought from his wine.
“When does the fun begin?” Cypress asked, redirecting the conversation. If this was her one chance to enjoy herself, to let loose, she didn’t want to spend it arguing with him.
“Are you not having fun yet?”
“Do you think I would have asked if that were the case?” Cypress shot back, draining the rest of her wine.
Surprisingly, she could feel the barest hint of the effects of the wine, her cheeks flushed and her body feeling loose. Normally, it would take several glasses– sometimes a small barrel–for Cypress to feelanything.
“What do you consider fun?” Torren asked, leaning on his elbow.
Cypress shrugged. “Do people dance here?”
“Do we dance?” Torren laughed, throwing his head back with it. Cypress watched the muscles of his throat work, his skin glistening. “Of course we dance, Lass!”
She stood, then, looking down at him, she said, “Show me. Human dances are boring.”
Torren slowly rose from his chair, and the silent challenge.
At his full height, their chests nearly brushed, and Cypress had to tilt her head back a bit to keep her eyes on his.
“Alright, Lass. Let's see if you can keep up,” he said and held his hand out for her to place her palm in.
“Go easy on me,” Cypress laughed and slid her palm into his.
Then, Torren led her by the hand into the center of the throne room and whirled to a stop.
