The Cold King(33)

He sighed again and she turned away, trying to hide her broken heart.

Marchello came in and his eyes bugged out at the sight of her. "My dear," he gasped. "You look …  ravishing."

"Thank you, Marchello," she said glumly.

He looked from her to the king. "You require me to take her into town?" Marchello asked uncertainly.

"I do. She needs more yarn." The king pressed a heavy bag of gold and a  scrap of paper into her hand. "Do you think you could find these things  as well?"



Calia bit back a sharp retort.

Marchello looked between them again before bowing. "Whenever you are ready, my dear."                       
       
           



       

"Might as well get it over with," she grumbled, trying to keep the pain from her voice.

Cato came skidding out of the kitchens as they passed. "If you are going to town I need more … " he trailed off.

Jos came up and elbowed him in the side. "Put your tongue away," he snapped. "She's not even your type."

Cato shook himself from his stupor and gave Jos him a wicked grin. "No,  but I can still appreciate." Calia looked at him questioningly. "Um,  cinnamon. Can you bring me back more cinnamon?"

She nodded mutely and followed the Marchello out to the carriage. The  ride was long and bumpy and Calia was glad she did not have to share it  with anyone. Her thoughts wandered from her hateful family to her  peaceful time with the king to her uncertain future and back to the king  again.

When they came to the center of town Marchello pulled to a stop and  helped her out of the carriage. With a grimace he looked her up and down  again before speaking. "Please, tell me what is going on?"

Calia tucked her face into her shoulder. "The king finds me so delightful he wants me to find a husband."

"A husband?" Marchello questioned. "That's ridiculous! He never sends servants away. And we all rather thought … " he trailed off.

Calia's heart leapt. "You all thought what?"



"Well, we thought perhaps he was falling for you. He's become a  different man since you arrived. I cannot imagine he would want to send  you away." The butler shook his head sadly.

Calia felt better knowing she wasn't the only one who had thought the  king had grown fond of her but it did nothing to change the situation.  With a heavy heart she said, "He doesn't want me. No one does, no one  ever has. Maybe he'll see no one here would want me as a wife and let me  stay on as his servant?" she wondered hopefully.

Marchello shook his head. "I cannot imagine what he is thinking."

Calia gave a sad shrug and pulled out the list the king had given for  her. "I do not think I'll be long. He wants buttons and ink and quills  in addition to my stupid yarn."

"Do not forget the cinnamon."

Calia forced a smile. "Of course not. Where shall I meet you?"

"I'll be at the tavern," Marchello said with a wink. "Our little secret?"

Calia frowned. "I am not going in there after you. I'll wait in the carriage."

"Fair enough," he replied.

Calia garnered much more attention than she had bargained for in her  saucy outfit. Every shop keeper seemed determined to sell her things she  did not need. She wondered if the kings former servant had been as  young as her that maybe they wouldn't have ignored her when she fell in  the mud so many months ago.

"Calia!" she heard shouted as left the seamstress shop. "Calia!"



She sighed and looked around. Sure enough, her mother was hurrying up  the street. She was wearing the gown the king had gifted to her and her  frizzy hair waved about her cheeks.

"There you are girl! I was looking everywhere for you."

"Why? I do not have anything to give you."

Mrs. Thorn's face fell a little before she noticed all the people  leaning in to listen to the conversation. "Can't I just wish to visit  with my eldest daughter?"

Calia sighed and led her mother to a less crowded store. She looked over  the yarn while her mother fretted and tapped her foot. Finally Calia  turned to her. "I meant it, I have nothing for you."

Her mother huffed. "Isn't the king grateful to me for bringing up his prized servant?"

"Not anymore," Calia snapped. "He's sending me away."

Mrs. Thorn's face paled in shock. "What have you done now, you stupid girl?"

Calia clenched her jaw. "Nothing," she said through gritted teeth.  "Nothing expect be the best servant and kindest girl I could be. I  earned his respect and affection but not his love. And he doesn't want  mine so he doesn't want me around. He wants me to find a husband."

Her mother grimaced. "Surely he knows I cannot afford a dowry for you."

"I am sure he'll take care of it, he is desperate to be away from me."

Mrs. Thorn looked around to make sure no one was listening in. "Do you think he'll announce it?"



"Announce what?" Calia asked impatiently.

"Your disgrace as his servant!" her mother hissed.

"I did not know falling in love was a disgrace," she retorted.

Her mother rolled her eyes. "Falling in love is for fools. I married  your father for money and I made a good catch. If I had married for  love, I would probably be poor!"                       
       
           



       

"You are poor," Calia reminded her harshly.

"Yes, but only because your idiot father had the nerve to die on me!"

Calia could take no more of her awful mother. She reached into the purse  the king had given her and fished out a fistful of gold coins. "Take  these and leave me be."

Her mother eyed the money greedily, snatched the coins up and stuffed  them into her own purse. "Do not come crawling back to me now that  you've messed your job up, I have no room for you," she said over her  shoulder haughtily.

Calia stood for a long time in front of the yarn display. The colors  swam together as her vision blurred from tears. When she finally  composed herself she picked the darkest, gloomiest colors and brought  the skeins to the cashier to pay for them.

The sky was darkening and Calia glanced up to see rain clouds moving in. "Of course," she muttered.

Rain began to patter as she ran to the general store. Everyone else was  running home or ducking into their own shops. Her dress was soaked and  her hair hanging down around her ears by the time she made it into the  cramped store.

It smelled terrible. Not foul, but like every good thing all at once.  The scent was overpowering. Determined to have everything anyone in the  town could need, and thus beating out his competition, Mr. Horatio had  filled the building with towering, over filled shelves spaced too  closely together. The feeling was claustrophobic.



Calia pushed past saddles and tacks and then reams of fabric.  Disoriented and frustrated, she shoved towards what she hoped was the  front of the store. Finally she made it the long counter.

There was no one in sight and she browsed along until she found a large  canister of cinnamon. She waited and waited before tapping on the  counter. "Hello? A little service, please."

The swinging doors to the store room crashed open. "Sorry ma'am what can  I … " Delmar trailed off as he caught sight of Calia in her dress. "Well,  well. Come to your senses finally?"

She bristled and wrapped her arms around herself. "I just need cinnamon," she said tersely.

"Sure," he said slowly, eyeing her up and down. Her nerves began to fray  and she glanced around, already knowing no one else was in the store.  "And how much did you need?"

"Oh. Um, I am not sure," she said shakily.

He leaned over the counter and leered at her. "You so desperately need cinnamon but you do not know how much?"

"No, I do not," she snapped. "I am a servant, not the cook."

She stiffened as someone brushed into her backside. "I hear you are not even that anymore," Durant purred into her ear.



Calia whirled away from him, desperate for someone to enter the store.

"Really brother? Do tell," Delmar asked with false enthusiasm.

"Well," he drawled out, "I heard from someone who heard from someone  that Miss Calia here has been dismissed from the king's services. I  guess she is not as pleasing to the eye as she thinks she is."

"I haven't been dismissed," Calia retorted. "He's expecting me back!"

They both laughed. "No," Durant purred. "He isn't. And no one here cares what happens to you."

"I am just here for cinnamon," she said evenly, looking for a way around him and out the front door.

Delmar cocked his head and traced a finger over the counter. "Yes, but you do not know how much you want?"