Fortune's Fool - Mercedes Lackey [86]
This was not the clothing he had brought with him.
More luxury; a high-collared honey-colored shirt of heavy, dull silk that felt like cream against his skin, and a pair of amber-brown lamb’s wool trews, dark brown boots so beautifully made that the cobbler back home would have wept to see them. They fitted onto his feet like stockings, and the leather was butter-soft. There was even a heavy silk sash for his waist, fringed at the ends, cunningly woven in a pattern that combined the colors of his shirt, trews, and boots.
All of this only made his mind race as he tried to think out all the possible Traditional ways this could go. With a sinking heart, he reckoned that the most likely was—
“Ah, my lord Prince, I see that you are awake.”
He jumped at the voice behind him. The young man of last night had just come around from the other side of the bed, bearing a copper tray with covered dishes on it. The dishes were also copper. He sensed a theme here….
“I hope you are hungry.” The young man set the tray down on the bench, and frowned a little. “There was no need to dress yourself—”
“I’m used to tending to myself, actually,” Sasha replied, with a little laugh. “I’ve gotten into the habit of it.”
“Please sit, my lord,” the young man replied firmly. Sasha bowed to the inevitable. He knew this sort of very superior servant. There were Proprieties. They must be met. And if you didn’t meet the Proprieties…a servant like this one had a way of making you feel like a barbaric cad.
Breaking one’s fast here was evidently considered of grave importance, judging by the number of dishes on that tray….
The moment he sat down, the servant produced a tiny table and set it in front of him, whisked a napkin into his lap and laid out knife and fork. Then the parade of food began.
The manservant presented him first with a cup of hot tea and a small plate of blinis with sour cream and caviar. These were followed by cheese blintzes, boiled eggs wrapped in ham slices, thick slices of bread that the manservant buttered for him, then layered with a thick slathering of jam, sliced fruit, sausages, egg pie, berries in cream…all washed down with more tea. If this had been Baba Yaga’s hut, he would have been seriously alarmed at this point, but he was fairly certain no one here was planning on making dinner out of him.
It was a far cry even from breakfast at his own father’s table, which, while certainly generous, was nothing like this.
“There,” the manservant said, whisking away the last course and deftly removing the table—which, being solid copper, must have weighed more than Sasha cared to think about. “Now you are ready for Her Majesty.”
Well that had an ominous ring to it. Nevertheless, he stood up and straightened his shirt. He needed to find a way to persuade the Queen to help him—or at least, let him go. Katya was out there, somewhere, and she needed his help and she wasn’t getting it with him in here.
The manservant paused a moment. Sasha glanced at him. There was something about his expression—
He had something to say. The question was—was this one of those cases where, Traditionally, it would be disaster and an insult to ask a question? Or was it the case where it would be “help from an unexpected source”?
“You’ve been very kind to me,” Sasha said, diffidently. “I hope you know that I appreciate it. I know you haven’t just been doing your duty, you care about doing your duty and doing it well. That is a difficult thing, and very admirable.”
The manservant’s green face darkened with a blush. “Most would never notice, and those that do never give it a second thought, my lord,” he replied.
“Well the only reason I didn’t say something last night was because I was so tired I was drunk with exhaustion,” Sasha said, and laughed ruefully. “I may be a Prince by title, but I have to tell you, I am a peasant compared to your Queen. And all this—” he gestured broadly “—is not the sort of thing I am used to. I hope I haven’t offended you with my barbarous ways. You’ve probably got nobler blood than