The Complete Broken Empire Trilogy: Prince of Thorns, King of Thorns, Emperor of Thorns. Mark Lawrence

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      20

      We sat at the long trestle where the kitchen skivvies ate their meals, Aunt Katherine and I. The servants cleared the low vault and brought in more light, candles of every length and girth in clay holders. They watched from the doorways at either end, a shabby crowd grinning and bobbing as though it was a holy day or a high day, and we were the mummers to entertain them. Drane hove into view and crested through the skivvies like a barge through water. He brought fresh bread, honey in a bowl, golden butter, and silver knives.

      ‘This is the place to eat,’ I said. I kept my eyes on Katherine. She didn’t seem to mind. ‘Bread hot from the oven.’ It steamed when I tore it open. Heaven must smell like fresh bread. ‘I knew I missed you for a reason, Drane.’ I called the words over my shoulder. I knew the fat cook would bask in that for a year. I hadn’t missed him. I hadn’t spared him but one thought for every hundred times I dreamed of his pies. In fact I’d struggled to remember his name when I saw him in the doorway. But something about the girl made me want to be the kind of man who would remember.

      The first bite woke my hunger and I tore at the loaf as though it were a haunch of venison and me huddled on the road with the brothers. Katherine paused to watch, her knife suspended above the honey bowl, her lips twitching with a smile.

      ‘Mmmfflg.’ I chewed and swallowed. ‘What?’ I demanded.

      ‘She’s probably wondering if you’ll go under the table when the bread’s gone and wrestle the dogs for bones.’ Makin had come up behind me unnoticed.

      ‘Damn but you’d make a good footpad, Sir Makin.’ I swung round to find him standing over me, his armour gleaming. ‘A man in plate-mail should have the decency to clank.’

      ‘I clanked plenty, Prince,’ he said. He showed me an annoying smile. ‘You had your mind on more pressing matters maybe?’ He bowed toward Katherine. ‘My lady. I haven’t had the honour?’

      She extended a hand to him. ‘Princess Katherine Ap Scorron.’

      Makin raised a brow at that. He took her hand and bowed again, much more deeply, lifting her fingers to his lips. He had thick lips, sensuous. He’d washed his face and his hair gleamed as much as his armour, coal-black and curled. He cleaned up well, and for the smallest moment I hated him without reservation.

      ‘Take a seat,’ I said. ‘I’m sure the excellent Drane can find more bread.’

      He let go of her hand. Too slowly for my liking. ‘Sadly, my prince, duty rather than hunger brings me to the kitchens. I thought I might find you here. You’re summoned to the throne-room. There must be a hundred squires hunting the halls for you. You also, Princess.’ He favoured her with an appreciative stare. ‘I met a fellow named Galen searching for you.’ Something tight laced those last words. Makin didn’t like Sir Galen any more than I did. And he’d met the man.

      I took the bread with me. It was too good to leave.

      We found our way back above ground. The Tall Castle appeared to have woken up during my trip to the kitchens. Squires and maids ran this way and that. Plumed guards passed by in twos and fives, bound for their duties. We skirted a lord in his furs and gold chain, girded by flunkies, leaving him with his astonishment, his bowing, and his ‘Good morning, Princess!’.

      By corridor and hall we reached Torrent Vault, the antechamber before the throne-room where the tourney armour of past kings lined the walls like hollow knights standing silent vigil.

      ‘Prince Honorous Jorg Ancrath, and the Princess Katherine,’ Makin announced us to the guards before the doors. He placed me before the princess. A small matter on the road, but a touch that spoke volumes in the Torrent Vault. Here is the heir to the throne, let him in.

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