To The Princess Bound (18 page)

Nervously, Victory said, “Um…  What are you doing?”

“Feeding us,” Dragomir said.  He held up a chunk of raw flesh sitting in a glass dish, in a pool of blood.  “What kind of meat is this?”

Victory gagged.  “I don’t know!”

Shrugging, he tossed it on the pile.  “You know where the cook keeps his spices?”

“What spices?” Victory said, with a small frown.

But he had already started sifting through the cabinets, plucking out bottles here and there.

Victory watched him, curious, as he rubbed butter into the bottom of the skillet and flicked on the burner.  Behind her, the Praetorian had come inside, probably to assure that the Emp wasn’t going to start playing with knives.

When he
did
start playing with knives, they quickly positioned themselves between the man and herself, blocking her view.

“Oh would you just get out of the way!” Victoria cried, pushing past the Praetorian to see the vegetable that Dragomir was chopping.  “What are you making?”

“Spaghetti,” he said, popping a mushroom into his mouth, then rolling his eyes with pleasure as he chewed it. 

Obviously, Victory thought, he had lived a sheltered life.  She told him as much.

He shrugged and went back to work dicing.  “We usually only make spaghetti on feast days, and it’s a whole village affair.  Everybody chips in a little bit of everything.  I usually throw a goat or two into the pot.”

Victory’s stomach twisted.  “
Goat
?” she demanded, in disgust.

He didn’t seem to hear her.  “It’s gonna probably take an hour or so, so snack on something if you need to.”  As he spoke, he handed her a slice of red bell pepper.

Victoria stared down at the pepper.  She saw no dip, no oils or cheese within reach.  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Eat it,” he said, already chopping up another onion.

She sniffed it, then took a tentative nibble.  Without dips, cheese, or oils to accent the flavor, she wrinkled her nose and managed politely, “It’s…fresh.”

He dumped the onion into the pan and started cutting olives.  “Considering the Imperium steals two thirds of the crops of most of Mercy, it better be.”

Victory made an indignant scoff.  “You have yet to prove that the tax rates are so high.”

Dragomir pulled a pot from the rack and started throwing tomatoes and vegetables into it.  “That snooty woman with the stick up her ass didn’t bring any records back with her, did she?”

Victory frowned.  “Don’t be rude.  Her name is Kiara.”  But now that she was thinking about it, Kiara hadn’t brought the subject up again, and it wasn’t like Kiara not to be on top of things.  Eight years under her watchful eye as her student had taught Victory that the woman had an amazing eye for detail, and she never forgot a task.

Dragomir shrugged.  “I don’t like her.  I can’t understand what she’s saying to you, but I don’t like the feel I get off of her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Victory snorted.  “I’ve known Kiara since I was a child.  She helped raise me.”

“Raised by wolves doesn’t make you a wolf,” Dragomir said.

Victory, uncomfortable, nodded at the food.  “It smells okay.”

He grinned at her shyly. “It’s not often I can cook for someone.  Even when I was home—”  He slowed, his voice dropping soberly.  “Even when I was at home, I didn’t have anyone.” 

Strangely, she got the sense that he was lying.

He glanced at her, his face clearing.  “You’re right, you know.  Being an Emp in the colony isn’t just like having blonde hair, instead of brown.  People look at you differently.  They give you a wide berth.  They…”  He gave a soft chuckle down at the meat he was cubing.  When he looked up at her, there was pain in his gaze.  “They don’t want you around their daughters unless it’s to cure them of some ill.”

“
You
?”  Victory snorted.  “You’re harmless.”

He raised a thick black brow at her.  “That’s not what you were saying yesterday.”

“I changed my mind,” Victory said, plucking a mushroom out of the sizzling skillet.  She blew on it carefully, then tasted it.  “I never watched anybody cook before,” she said, peering around his elbow as he finished browning the meat and dumped it into the pot with the rest of the veggies.  She leaned against the counter, enthralled, as he dumped a couple cups of wine into the pot and started to stir.  “How do you know when it’s done?”

Dragomir rummaged for a lid and dropped it atop the pot, then turned toward her to lean against the counter, facing her.  He had a handful of walnuts in one hand, and was popping them into his mouth.  He glanced at the clock above the exit where the Praetorian stood.  “If my calculations are correct, it will take exactly one hour, twenty-three minutes and fifty-two seconds for the sauce to finish simmering.  Then he cocked his head.  “Give or take three seconds.”

Victory was impressed.  “Wow, that’s pretty—”  She bit off the word ‘precise’ at the flash of amusement in his eyes.  Narrowing her eyes at him, she growled, “You’re lying.”

“Maybe a little.”  He grinned and tossed the rest of the walnuts into his mouth.

Wrinkling her nose, she looked around the kitchen.  She found herself a little taken aback at all the numerous weapons hanging from racks, sitting in blocks, lying on counters…  And was even more surprised that it hadn’t even occurred to her that he would try to use one of them.

“Whatever you did to me,” Victory said, “You’re going do it again tomorrow.”

The Emp raised a single eyebrow.  “That so?”

“Yes,” Victory stated.  “First thing.”

He dropped another walnut into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, watching her.  “How about a trade?  I energize your meridians, you unlock the ankle cuffs.”

Victory laughed.  “You’ll do what I tell you to do.”

Dragomir hesitated, a walnut half-lowered into his open mouth, a single eyebrow raised.

Remembering that she was dealing with an Emp, and that her brother had supposedly beaten him half to death without so much as a blip on the meter, Victory grimaced.  “We might be able to work something out.”

Dragomir laughed.  “Sounds like you were choking on something when you said that.”

Victory sniffed and went to examine Cook’s huge copper pot where it hung from the ceiling.  Easily big enough to cook a whole Praetorian cavalryman, horse and all.  Twenty minutes later, the savory smells issuing from the top of the Emp’s pot were becoming too much for Victory to bear.  “It smells good.  Let’s eat it now.”  She reached for the lid.

“Wait.  Not done yet.”  When she ignored him, Dragomir frowned and smacked her hand.

Instantly, four Praetorian had him backed over the stove, their swords at his throat.

“Um, Princess?” he asked, sounding nervous.  He looked at her over the folded steel blades, swallowing hard.

Victory lifted the lid of the pot and looked inside.  She inhaled, then set the lid back down with a grunt. She dug into the bag of walnuts that the Emp had found and started munching them thoughtfully.  “You know,” Victory began conversationally, “you should be more careful.  They’re trained to kill anything that touches me without my permission.”

“I think they broke another rib,” he muttered.

Victory sighed and dismissed her Praetorian with a wave.

Dragomir patted at the bandages around his torso.  He lifted his head and glared at the Praetorian, who glared back.  Their hands started to slip under their cloaks, for their swords.

“I wouldn’t stare,” Victory warned, popping another walnut into her mouth.  “They’re getting agitated.”

“They’re
jumpy
,” he growled, looking them dead in the eyes.  “Like small, annoying dogs with metabolism issues.”

She lifted both brows at him.  “You just raised your hand to a member of the royal family.  By all rights, you should be dead.”

He swung to face her, scowling.  “I smacked your greedy little fingers away from my food.” 

She choked on a walnut.  “
Greedy
?  It befuddles me that you think you can speak such to a member of the royal family.”

He narrowed his eyes.  “Be glad I didn’t use a spoon, wench.”

Victoria choked.  “Be glad my Praetorian don’t flatten you to the floor.  They would in a heartbeat, if they knew you were referring to me as such.  You may address me as Princess or milady or mistress or, on a very good day, Victory.  Not ‘wench.’”

“You know what, wench?” Dragomir said, glaring.  “You’re right.”  He snatched up his spoon and pointed across the kitchen.  “Go stand over there and find your own food.  I don’t want them getting the wrong idea and thinking I’m force-feeding you.”

And, true to his word, when his meal was finished, he took out an enormous serving-platter from the cabinet, heaped a tangle of noodles in its center, and then dumped the entire pot of sauce atop it.  Then he took out a fork and a knife, moved his heaping platter to an island counter, and started eating.

“I want some,” Victory said, eying the pile.  Her stomach was rumbling.

“Sorry,” he said, stuffing noodles and sauce into his face.  He didn’t sound sorry at all.  “We can’t let the Praetorian take the chance that my cooking is so sub-par that your royal ass might suffer the ill-effects of food poisoning.”

Victory stared at him.  “You’re really going to eat that without me?”

His answer was a loud slurp of noodles.

Victory stomped over to the nearest fridge, yanked it open, and stared at the contents.  She found a wedge of cheese, which she mutilated in an attempt to get it out of its rind, and yanked some crackers from a shelf in the pantry, then sat down opposite the island from Dragomir, eating with her back facing him.

Behind her, he slurped like a pig in the trough.

“Would you
please
not eat so loud?!” she cried.  “You’re making me lose my appetite.”

If anything, the slurping sounds grew louder.

“Ugh!” Victory growled.  She hunched over her plate of cheese and crackers, trying to pretend the disgusting creature behind her didn’t exist.

When they were both finished with their meals, Victory stuffed the leftover cheese and crackers into a bag and then stuffed it between her breasts.  The Emp, for his part, looked ill.  He had cleaned his plate, but she had watched him force the last bites down with all the stubborn determination of a feral boar.

“Did you enjoy eating
all
that food?” Victory asked pleasantly.  When he gave her a dark look, his face pale and sweating, she gave him a polite smile.  “Let’s get going, then.”  She gestured at his clean plate.  “Now that you’ve had such a
filling
meal, perhaps you would enjoy a tour of the palace?”

His blue eyes flashed with challenge.  “I feel great.”

She smiled at him.  “Why, slave, I never said you didn’t.”  She cocked her head at him.  “Though now that you mention it, you
do
look a little pale.  Are you sure you’re all right?” 

“Fine,” Dragomir bit out.  “Enjoyed every bite.”

She gave him a knowing grin.  “I’m sure you did.”  She turned and started out the door, the Praetorian falling in beside her.  “Which part of the palace would you like to see first?  I was thinking a trip to the Vanishing Spire, so that we get the spectacular view of the two-thousand-foot drop off the Gorgarian Cliffs.

“Sounds fine to me,” he said, much too forcefully.

Delighted, Victory led him to the base of the Vanishing Spire and, because she was feeling malicious, decided to make them walk up the long, spiraling staircase instead of taking the elevator hidden in the wall.

“Don’t know what kind of view you’re going to get at this time of night, anyway,” Dragomir muttered, about halfway up.

“The moons should be out,” Victory said.  “At their peak, they highlight the entire valley.”  She continued up the stairs cheerfully, as Dragomir shuffled along behind.

She was actually beginning to feel sorry for him, shackled the way he was, by the time they reached the door to the viewing deck.  She opened it and stepped outside to an immediate gust of wind.

At the exit, Dragomir balked.  “Those railings don’t look big enough.”

Oh my gods,
Victory thought, delighted,
I think he’s afraid of heights…

“Well,” she said with a disappointed sigh, “I suppose if it unnerves you, we may find our entertainment elsewhere.”

He straightened like someone had rammed a pole down his spine.  “Didn’t say it unnerved me,” he said tightly, stepping out onto the deck with her.

Oh this is too perfect,
Victory thought, absolutely thrilled with this interesting new discovery.  She clapped her hands, and the lights on the viewing deck dimmed at her command.  The stars were out, and the twin moons lit up the cliffs around them in dazzling shades of blue.  Wind whipped past the great cliffs into which the Imperial Palace had been built, and each gust sucked her breath away.

Dragomir, who had followed her reluctantly to the edge, stumbled backwards, grabbing the wall behind him like he was afraid the deck was about to rip off and fall into the ravine.