Page 83 of The Queen's Line
"Thank you," I whispered.
And then we stepped into the light, ascending the stairs. The sunlight was bright again, the quick transition from in and out again confusing my eyes, but I saw the dark blur before me and knew it was the audience.
"Her Royal Highness, Princess Bryony of Kimmery," some booming voice announced as I stepped onto the stage.
I couldn't feel my feet beneath me, but Thao and Owen were careful in their guiding, taking me down the steepled platform to the bottom level.
The crowd was silent, or not quite, but they weren't cheering, just staring up at me, muttering to one another, and it took me a moment to remember to smile, the expression fragile and shaky.
It was as if we were trapped on two sides of glass, as if I were an object displayed for their curiosity. I couldn't greet them from here, not in any real way that mattered, and they couldn't know me from where I stood on the stage. Sudden humiliation rushed through me. I wished there had been some way I could've mingled with them, unknown as Bryony.
My knees wobbled and an unconscious impulse struck quick. I pulled my arm free of Thao's and stepped forward, looking out over the vast crowd, the musicians who'd turned on their stage to watch, the vendors and cooks who watched from their stalls.
I fell into a deep curtsy, my head bowing low, my hand over my heart, and listened to the soft rush of collected breath.
A roaring cry of cheers followed, thunderous and shocked, lewd and happy words thrown in my direction that made me rise with a laugh and giant smile to match the faces that stared back at me.
"Make merry with your princess, people of Kimmery," the crier yelled, but it was lost in the din.
27
Bryony
“It’s the best cut, I kept it fresh just in case you might stop by, Your Prince—princess, highness— Your—”
"Thank you," I pressed, smiling at the short, heavyset man who stumbled over my title. I bounced on my toes as I waited for the quiet taster Cresswell had found for me to take his bites, before finally passing me the skewered, still steaming meat.
Fat and salt struck my tongue first, making my eyes widen with the first bite. The meat was crispy around its edges and perfectly tender inside, hot and seasoned with a hint of unusual spice. I hummed my pleasure, eyes falling shut, and the cook in front of me chuckled from the other side of his stall.
"I can pass the recipe along to your cook, Your Highness," the cook offered.
"Oh, no, you should come to the palace and make it yourself and sit with us for dinner," I said, waving a hand and smiling as the man's eyes widened and he spluttered through his thanks.
Thao was at my side. I didn't know if Cresswell had mentioned to him that he should stay close to me, or if Thao wanted to be there anyway, but he was taking the task seriously, his hip pressed to mine and his arm around my shoulder. I turned the skewer in his direction, raising an eyebrow in invitation as I licked my lips. Thao ducked, helping himself to the bite I'd offered, sharing my groan of appreciation. I watched as he licked the char and fat and salt from his own bottom lip, staring avidly at the flick of his tongue and not looking away as he found me watching, his grin growing.
"Another?" the cook asked.
"Please," I said, even though this was the last stall we were visiting and I was far too full of good food already.
It took an hour or more before the crowd at the platform grew bored of my waves and nods and the little words I was able to exchange with them. Once, and only once, someone threw a tomato toward the stage, but they missed me by quite a bit and it was Owen who caught it in his palm, giving thanks and then eating it like an apple. Our audience cheered for him, and a small fight broke out near where the tomato was thrown from.
When the sun began to set and the music grew loud and wild again, the crowd thinned and Cresswell relented and let me wander the festival grounds, surrounded by a ring of my Chosen and a second of guards.
Once I'd started visiting the stalls, I couldn't stop. I purchased woven baskets, corn husk dolls, hand knitted sweaters, wooden bowls, miniature paintings, and a beautiful glass figurine of a horse from one of Cosmo's artist friends. I'd eaten tarts and honey wheat buns and shucked corn dressed with butter and cheese curds and ground spices.
"I love festivals," I said, sinking into Thao's side with a sigh.
Oh, and I'd drank a fair amount of mead.
Owen laughed and took the mug from my other hand, finishing the contents and grabbing my attention as a little dribble ran down his cheek. He gasped and waggled his eyebrows at me as he finished.
"You'd better get your dancing in before you have any more of that," Owen said.
"Your Highness should return to the tent, surely you could dance there," Cresswell argued.
"Nooo! Cress, you promised, youdid. Just one or two dances," I said, slipping free from Thao and squeezing past a cuddly Cosmo to face my head guard. "Please," I said with wide eyes.
One of the other guards muttered something under his breath, scoffing lightly, and I watched as Cresswell turned a genuine growl in his direction, before clearing his throat and settling to face me again. "The crowd is still heavy and you are…"