Page 29 of Of Blood & Bone: The Young Queen

He opens his mouth to say something, but the serving girls arrive with the soup and a selection of breads. I take one of the loaves, break it in half and offer it to the prince. He takes it with his left hand and with his right hand he takes a pinch of salt from the salt bowl and throws it over his left shoulder. I do the same, and by the laws of the realms am now bound to provide the prince, as my guest, my protection for thirty days.

“Ah yes, our arrangement,” he says, and I don’t miss the twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Before we get to that, tell me, onwhat business do I, the Emissary of Ellerban, come? What story have you concocted to tell your Grand Council?”

"I intend to tell the Grand Council you are here to discuss matters in relation to Greythorne. In particular, you wish to discuss hunting rights for the red pig and also incursions of Greythorne's men into Ellerban."

He tears a chunk of bread from one of the loaves and chuckles. "I have to hand it to you, Queen, someone sure trained you well for the business of sitting on the throne."

"Thank you, I learned at the knee of my mother and grandmother, two of the greatest monarchs Ardvalla has ever known."

He dips the bread into his soup and places it in his mouth, all the while looking at me with a thoughtful, yet questioning expression. “Hmmm,” he murmurs, “they may have taught you well for the business of being a queen, but I can’t help wondering how well instructed you have been in the ways of a wife.”

I nearly choke on my soup! Here he goes again with his forthright manner. “I beg your pardon?” I demand. “Ways of a wife? What does that mean?”

Infuriatingly, he continues to eat his bread and soup without giving me a reply, but he stares at me as if he is mulling something over. “Perhaps I put that badly. What I should have said is the ways of a man and his wife.”

“Whaaat?” I splutter. “Prince Ronan, what are you talking about?”

He’s just about to reply when the serving girls come back to clear our soup bowls and deliver the main course. As befitting his status as an emissary, a leg of venison has been prepared and is placed between us. It is then surrounded by platters of vegetables and light breads. The Master Of The Table returns with fresh wine glasses and fills them with the dark wine of Alicantara, one of the finest wine producing regions in thesouthern realms. He then carves our meat and fills our plates before he and the serving girls take their leave.

In the interim, the prince seems to have forgotten the previous part of our conversation as he drinks his wine and makes an appreciative, “mmmmm,” noise on tasting the venison. I, on the other hand, don’t touch either my wine or food as I glare at him. “When you’re quite ready, would you mind explaining exactly what you meant by your last comment? Just what makes you think I am ignorant in the way of things between a man and his wife?”

“Easy there, Queen,” he says in an infuriatingly calm tone. “What I said was meant as an observation and was in no way meant as an insult.”

“Observation or insult, it doesn’t matter, I merely wish you to explain what exactly you mean by it. Do you take me for a simple maiden who doesn’t know how babies are made?”

He smiles. “I presume you know the basics of it, as in where a man puts his cock…”

I raised my hand in protest. “Prince Ronan, please, I’d prefer if you didn’t indulge in tavern speak.”

He looks at me in surprise. “Well, what would you prefer I call the male member? Penis? Manhood?” He pauses and his face breaks out into a wicked grin. “Or perhaps love-stick is more to your liking?”

“Manhood is just fine, now get on and make your point.”

“Fine. Here it is. From some of your reactions to me in the past few days, I’ve got to wonder how well versed you are in the ways of men. For example, how many men have you kissed?”

A memory of the one and only kiss I’ve ever had, that awful experience with Greythorne, flashes through my mind and I feel my cheeks redden.

“Ah, I can see what the answer is. Obviously, not too many, and from your expression I’d also be willing to wagerwhat few kisses you’ve had were none too pleasant. Which leads me to believe you’re most probably a virgin queen who, far from having been sullied, has most likely not even seen a man in naked form yet.”

I draw heartily on my wine. I was wondering when he was going to bring the damn sullied thing up again. He looks at me pointedly, as if he is awaiting a response to his statement. I drink some more of my wine as I have no idea how to respond. He cocks his head to the side as if to say, I’m waiting. I pop some of the mouth-watering venison into my mouth and wash it down with more wine, playing for time while I try to formulate a response, but my brain refuses to cooperate. So, I decide to answer with a question of my own instead.

“Prince Ronan, pray tell, what is the purpose of this line of conversation?”

“Queen Elinor,” he replies, stretching out the syllables of my name so that it sounds like Eh-lyn-oor, “you intend to make me your King and have made it quite clear that role is a fully functioning one and not just in name only. Indeed, one could say you intend for me to be the stallion to your brood mare, so to speak. I’m merely trying to determine what I’m dealing with here and what I can expect from you in the bed chamber.”

I lift my chin and stare down my nose at him. “You can expect my full co-operation.”

His response is not quite what I expect. “Co-operation!” he exclaims as he splutters out his wine, “Co-operation? Oh, Queen, our consummation won’t be some sort of trial for you to grit your way through. Have some faith, I can do better than that. I am merely trying to determine if I am to be your first...”

I raise my hand again and stop him mid-sentence before I am consumed by the flames of my own mortification. I have no idea why he wishes to discuss these matters, and it was not something I had foreseen when I made my decision to bringhim to Ardvalla. Somewhere in the back of my mind I’d had a blurry vision of us sharing the same bed on our wedding night but hadn’t thought much past that. The prince, it would seem, is doing the thinking for both of us.

“Perhaps we should consider having this conversation once your seed has been tested, for until it is proven that your seed is good, all talk of consummation is moot.”

He takes a long drink of his wine and studies me for a few moments. “Ah yes, the small matter of the testing of my seed. Tell me, just how does that happen? I’ve heard wild stories of beautiful maidens who turn up in the night and seduce the seed from prospective suitors, which is then tested by an old crone in a black cape. There are those who say she feeds off the good seed to help keep her young and demands a monthly donation as part of her price. Some even say she insists on extracting it herself.”

Now it’s my turn to splutter out my wine as I burst out laughing at the last part of his story and his slightly worried expression. “Yes, on the twentieth day of every month she comes calling to exact her payment.” I laugh. “But don’t worry, I and the beautiful maidens shall be there to help you get through it.”

His expression turns to horror and I descend into a fit of laughter that I find quite hard to come back from, but soon the joke is on me as some of the remaining wine catches in my throat and I feel like I’m choking. I start to cough uncontrollably and find it hard to catch my breath so, in an effort to expand my lungs, I stand up. The prince is out of his chair in an instant, his expression now one of deep concern. He pats me firmly on the back, obviously believing something is lodged in my throat. It helps a little and I manage to catch my breath but find it necessary to grab hold of him to stop me from falling as I suddenly feel faint. His arms come around me and he pulls me towards him until I am resting against his chest. He gently rubs my back, his hand moving in soothing circular motions.

---