So, what have you learned from this little...snafu?

 

So, what have you learned from this little…snafu?”

“I should’ve sharpened my knives.” Blane lifted his head to Kendrick, stuffing down a grin when the old man’s chest puffed out like a chicken.

“That was an embarrassment to His Majesty,” Kendrick said, his words ripe with indignation.

Blane ran his knife along the sharpening stone and rolled his eyes. “It was a baron, not a duke. And hardly anyone important.”

“Nevertheless,” Kendrick said, polishing the silver cutlery with harsh strokes. “You nearly had to pluck that bird apart. It should have been sliced with ease, and Baron Waterly should not have been left waiting.”

Blane could think of a few other things he’d like to slice with ease. He lifted a brow to Kendrick, whom he barely tolerated. But the old man was right; Blane was Master Carver, a distinguished station for a servant of the King.

Speaking of.

The royal guard walked by, flanking the King as he strode from the servant’s passage to the door at the rear of the kitchens; a lean figure clad in fine linen strolling with power. His Majesty’s nose was large; his chin blunt. Blane hated it; hated the features that he found so unsightly.

Hated it even more that those same features graced his own face.

Why couldn’t he have taken after his mother? But no. he looked just like the man that sired him. Which is why he’d been appointed Master Carver so quickly; one of eleven children of the king, but not the queen, that were elevated to senior staff positions. Positions of honor His Majesty said, and Kendrick often echoed. Blane scoffed, running a finger down the razor-sharp edge of his largest carving knife.

He rose, straightening his light blue jacket before wheeling a cart of freshly roasted pheasant to one of the dining rooms. With a face as bland as raw meat, he sliced thin portions and served it to Prince Darian.

And Blane felt it; his half brother’s eyes on him. The cool calculation. The disdain. Blane was one of eleven bastard born. There had been fourteen. Three had died this year alone. Mysterious deaths.

But Blane knew. Knew that Darian didn’t tolerate threats to his power. Which is why he would be Darian’s next target.

The last mistake the prince would make. Poultry wasn’t the only thing Blane was good at carving up…