A dull red seeped into his cheeks, and he
scrambled off her. “Er, yes. I knew you were hungry.” He glanced at his watch,
and the action held a hint of stiffness, as though he was desperate to avoid
her eyes. “You’ve been asleep for more than an hour. You should have enough
time to eat and freshen up before we arrive in Bulgainia.”
Anca was determined to ignore her state of
arousal, so she struggled to convince herself that her nipples weren’t still
hard and aching. He couldn’t possibly see them through the cotton of her shirt.
Even if he could, well…she couldn’t do anything about it.
She put on her most professional face, the
one reserved for dealing with suppliers and testy customers, and swung her legs
off the bunk. She saw a tray on the table by the window and stood up.
Anca swayed as the train rocked under her.
When Demi reached out a hand to steady her, she smiled at him. “Thank you. I’m
not accustomed to train travel.” Despite being a native New Yorker, she had
seldom used Grand Central Station for transportation, other than to board the
subways.
His hand was slow to drop away. “Of course.”
Anca allowed her feet to fall into the
rhythm of the train, and it wasn’t as erratic as she had expected. She made her
way to the table and dropped into a chair. She looked up to see Demi standing
uncertainly in the center of the car. “Will you join me?”
He nodded and came to sit with her, after
pausing to turn on the lamp bolted to the wall. The sun was hanging low in the
sky, and shadows filled the compartment, until the dim illumination chased them
away.
Anca stared at the food on the plate. There
was a covered plate and bowl, and a carafe with a solid-looking crystal glass
turned upside down beside it. She turned over the glass and filled it with a
rich reddish-brown liquid from the carafe. She brought it to her nose and
sniffed experimentally. It smelled acrid and sweet, with a hint of fruitiness.
“What is this?”
“Tuica. It’s a locally brewed plum brandy.
If you don’t like it, I’ll fetch you something else.”
She sipped it cautiously, prepared for it to
overwhelm her. Her limited experiences with foreign alcohols—Guinness and
ouzo—hadn’t led her to expect otherwise. Anca was surprised to find the flavor
was crisp and refreshing, and the mouthful went down smoothly.
Next, she lifted the lid from the bowl and
found some kind of soup with a dollop of sour cream on it. She swirled her
spoon through the broth, seeing onions, carrots, zucchini, and dough balls.
“And this, Demi?”
“
Bors
de dovlecei
. It’s sour soup with zucchini.”
She nodded. Again, with caution, she took a
spoonful and tasted it. She couldn’t hide her grimace. Once she had swallowed
it, Anca laid her spoon on the tray and covered the bowl.
She lifted the cover from the plate and was
relieved to find the food semi-recognizable. She used her fork to indicate the
vegetable dish. “I know this is eggplant, though I haven’t seen it served this
way.”
“It’s baked with garlic.”
She nodded, moving her
fork to the rolls that looked like miniature green burritos. “I’m not quite
sure about this.”
“Sarmale with vegetables and Mititei.”
She smiled at him. “Translation, please?”
Demi chuckled, and the sound reminded her of
the dream. “Romanian sausage and vegetables, wrapped with cabbage leaves.
Sarmale is peppers or cabbage stuffed with anything.”
Anca took a bite of the eggplant and closed
her eyes with pleasure. It seemed to melt on her tongue, while the tang of
garlic reinforced the more delicate seasonings. The sarmale was equally
delicious, and she made short work of the meal, not even pausing for
conversation. He seemed content to watch her, and she found his eyes constantly
on her to be comforting instead of disconcerting.
When Anca pushed away her tray with a sigh,
she said, “Thank you. I wouldn’t have known what to order.”
Demi inclined his head. “I live to serve
you.”
She jerked at the unexpected phrase, echoed
from her dream. “What?” she demanded stridently.
He frowned. “Have I offended you?”
She crinkled the napkin still on her lap
with her fingers. “What made you say that?”
Demi shrugged. “It’s a common phrase in my
country. People have been using it for thousands of years, in response to
requests from the royal family.”
Anca sighed with relief. He hadn’t been
mocking her dream. She must be losing her mind if she really believed he had
somehow eavesdropped on the images parading through her brain during her nap.
“I see…” She trailed off. “Do you work for the royal family?”
He hesitated, and then nodded. “In a manner
of speaking. The king fostered me as a child. I have been,” his brow wrinkled,
as if he was searching for a way to explain, “adopted into the family, I guess
you could say.”
Anca nodded. “It must be a habit, huh?”
Demi looked confused. “Pardon, Anca?”
“To use that phrase.” She grinned at him.
“I’ll have to remember it if we see any royalty during my visit.”
His eyes widened, and he blinked several
times. His mouth opened and closed, and he took a deep breath. Demi cleared his
throat. “There has been confusion, I think.”
“How so?”
“I live at Castle Draganescu, Anca. I serve
your father, as do all Corsovan citizens. In return, he shepherds and guides
us. He is the Protector of our way of life.”
She shook her head, confused by his flowery
speech. “I don’t understand.”
“Your father is the ruler of Corsova. Your
mother is the queen, living in exile by her own choice. You are heir to the
throne.”
Silence filled the compartment as he stopped
speaking. Anca knew her mouth had dropped open, but she couldn’t seem to
concentrate enough to close it. Her eyes felt as though they would bug out of
their sockets. She shook her head. “Uh…”
“Anca?” His tone was full of concern.
She shook her head more vigorously. “That’s
crazy.” There was a shrill edge to her voice, and she struggled to restrain it.
“I’m not the heir to anything. I own a tea shop, for goodness’ sakes.”
Demi spread his hands apart in a gesture of
helplessness. “That may be, but you are also the princess of Corsova, and the
next in line for the throne.” He frowned. “I can’t believe Katrine never told
you.”
A sharp laugh escaped her. “Mother said my
father was a shepherd.” The laugh changed to a giggle that held a note of
hysteria. “I guess she wasn’t lying completely,” Anca said when the urge to
laugh faded.
His frown deepened. “I’m certain she had
reasons for not telling you.”
She shrugged, unable to come up with one or
deal with what she had just learned.
“It’s better you learn this now, no?”
“No!” She didn’t have to hesitate. “I don’t
want this kind of burden. Jesus, Demi, don’t you think it’s stressful enough to
meet my father for the first time, without knowing about this added BS?”
He shook his head. “BS?”
“Bullshit,” she said very clearly.
“What does bull excrement have to do with
the situation?”
The urge to laugh almost overwhelmed her
again, but Anca feared her control was so tenuous that if she gave in, it would
never stop. She would end up booked into a room at some Eastern European
sanitarium. “Never mind,” she said impatiently. “It’s just a figure of speech.”
“Ah.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I hope you don’t think
I’m here to take over for my father, or some such nonsense. I don’t want any
part of this.”
“But—“
Anca pressed on. “I’ve come to meet this
Valdemeer, and then I’m going home. Back to New York, back to my mother, back
to my shop, and back to my real life.”
Demi scowled. “What of your duty to your
people?”
“I have no people. The closest thing to ‘my
people’ is the neighborhood watch program.” She snorted. “I didn’t know
anything about this. If you’d been honest from the start, I wouldn’t have
come.”
He stiffened, and his expression bordered on
angry. “I did not lie to you. I assumed your mother had told you of your
birthright. Do not blame me for this shock. I had nothing to do with siring you
or stealing you from your people for twenty-seven years.”
She swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she said
stiffly. “It’s a shock, you know?”
He inclined his head, but his eyes still
gleamed with anger. “I suggest you get over your shock. We will be in Bulgainia
in ten minutes. It’s another hour from there to Castle Draganescu. I’ll expect
you to be in control when you meet your father. He doesn’t need to be upset the
first night he finally gets to meet you.”
Anca opened her mouth to protest.
“You can tell him of your objections later,
but they should be directed toward him.” Demi sighed. “The decision of whether
or not you will have to assume your duties will rest with him.”
She frowned at the stiffness in his tone.
“Sorry to bother you.” She couldn’t hide the hint of hurt in her voice.
“It is no bother,” he said distantly.
She nibbled on her lip, absurdly hurt at the
barrier he seemed to be erecting between them. “Well, then…” She trailed off,
unable to think of anything to add.
“If you would like to freshen up, the
bathroom is down the hall. It is prominently marked with a female form.”
She nodded and slid from the chair. She
didn’t look at Demi as she rushed from the compartment and down the hallway. It
wasn’t until she had locked herself into the small lavatory that she let her
cool expression fade into one of blatant terror. Anca met her haunted brown
eyes in the mirror and was amazed at how much green glowed in their depths.
That only happened when she was emotional.
She ran a shaky hand through her fall of
dark-brown hair, attempting to restore order to it after its dishevelment from
her nap. Her thoughts weren’t on making herself more presentable though. She
couldn’t stop thinking about Demi’s revelation.
What did he want from her? More importantly,
what did her father want from her? What if he refused to let her go home? If he
were the king, would anyone defy him to help her leave the country?
A sinking feeling hit her stomach, and she
bent forward. She started shaking, and tears burned in her eyes. She had to get
home. What would become of her mother and
Dragan’s Whimsy
if she didn’t?
Anca
took a deep breath and stood up slowly. She met her eyes in the mirror again
and tried to force a reassuring smile. She just needed a plan.
Gradually, an idea formed in her mind. She
played it out several times, until she heard the train whistle announcing they
were approaching a stop. She examined herself from head to foot, pleased to see
she appeared steady. Having a plan always calmed her.
She pasted on a slightly shaky smile and
exited the ladies’ room. Anca couldn’t give Demi even a hint of what she
planned if she hoped to succeed.
Chapter 4
Anca walked near enough to Demi not to lose
her way, but not so close as to allow him to easily reach out and grab her. She
scanned the platform as they stepped off the train, and was shocked by the lack
of activity. There were a few people milling about, but nothing like she had
seen at Gara Constanta.
She took a step onto the old wood of the
platform, and it creaked under her shoes. She turned her head to eye the
station, built from gray stones, with a sloped roof. A board of schedules was
posted on the outside, above the window where a clerk stood, but she didn’t
recognize the language.
Her attention turned to a small group
hugging and crying near them. The boy they were embracing had tears shimmering
in his eyes, but his posture was stiff. They faced the other set of tracks on
the opposite side of the platform.
Demi must have seen her eyes on the other
tracks, because he said, “The train turns around here at the capitol. It will
make a circle a few miles out of town and head back to Gara Constanta.”
She looked up at him, struggling to appear
disinterested. “I see. So, it does that in a short time?”
He nodded. “Just a few minutes.”
As he spoke, the train they had departed
from headed down the tracks again.
Demi shifted the luggage to one arm and put
his hand at her waist. “I left my car in the lot.”
“Okay.” She tensed as she felt his hand on
her waist, but tried to hide her tension. Anca bit her lip, fretting over her
plan. It had been contingent on her getting lost in a crowd, but there was no
crowd here.
As they neared the
family with the young man, Anca stepped closer to them. She knocked against his
pile of luggage, sending it sprawling across the platform. She bit back a
twinge of remorse when one of the cases opened and spilled its contents. She
felt bad for the boy and wished she hadn’t had to do that, but what choice did
she have?