Elle tottered off, correcting her posture and growing taller as she went. Making a lap around the table took more effort than Elle expected. When she paused near Severin to rest the cursed prince picked up the bowl of peeled, golden fruit and held it out to her.
Elle took a piece and popped it in her mouth. It exploded with sweet, citrus flavor. It was sweeter than an orange, and tasted much how Elle imagined the summer sun would taste. “What is this?” Elle asked.
“Pineapple,” Severin said, reaching for a letter with his right hand while setting the fruit down with the other.
“I have never heard of it.”
“I should think not. It’s a newly imported fruit from the far south kingdoms. We finally secured trade agreements with them this year.”
“Far south, so not our southern neighbors?”
“No, even farther south than them. Their climate is warm year round.”
“Imagine that,” Elle said, starting another lap.
“Mmhmm,” Severin said, engrossed in his letters.
Elle walked further and occasionally paused to flex the muscles in her ankles and legs. When she finished the lap by coming to a stop next to Severin, the prince again wordlessly held out the bowl of pineapple up for her.
Elle took a slice. “Delicious,” she decided.
Severin didn’t respond.
When Elle started her third lap a panting Jock squeezed in through the ajar door. He barked when he saw Elle and scurried to her side, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.
“Come along, Jock. You could use the exercise as well,” Elle said, patting the soft fabric of her dress before she set off.
Jock waddled after her, breathing heavily enough to make Severin glance up to see if he had flopped over.
Elle and the beautiful but overweight canine strolled, dallying at the far end of the room to view the room’s sparse décor and furnishings. When they finished the loop and ended at Severin’s side, Elle took her customary piece of fruit from Severin.
Jock danced in place as he watched Elle eat and licked his chops.
Elle reached into a hidden pocket of her dress, digging out a small piece of jerky to give the little dog.
Jock just about oinked in thankfulness, and after a minute he and Elle continued on their walk.
When the pair finished their fourth lap and Elle gave Jock his customary piece of jerky after taking a piece of pineapple from the bowl Severin offered, Elle paused. She looked from Jock to Severin to the bowl of fruit. “Am I being rewarded for walking?” she asked.
“Yes,” Severin said.
“Like a pet?”
“Yes.”
Severin looked up when Elle asked nothing further and was amused to see Elle’s puzzled expression. “Are you upset?” he asked.
“I’m trying to decide that,” Elle said. “Shamefully I don’t believe I am.”
Severin chuffed—the noise Elle learned to identify as his laugh. “I see,” he said when he recovered.
“If you do see I should get another piece of pineapple for my sweet, forgiving nature.”
Severin held up the bowl again. “How could I argue with such logic?”
“Thank you, I thought so too. But this negates the good that walking does me.”
“Hardly. Your weight is not yet a problem. It is the weakness of your muscles.”
“You certainly know how to reassure a lady.”
“You’re welcome.”
A few days later Severin and Elle once again made the pilgrimage through the blustery courtyard to the horse stables.
“You would think it is the middle of the winter, based on the temperature,” Elle said, grateful that Emele had insisted she wear a fur lined cape.
After the wind almost ripped the door from his grip, Severin barred the stable door behind them. “Ours is a cooler climate,” he grunted.
“Are you going to brush Fidele?” Elle asked.
“Yes, but that is not why we are here.”
“Oh?”
Severin pointed down the stable aisle. The draft horses had already retreated to the back of their stalls, and the carriage horses were snarling, but in the stall next to Fidele’s was a fuzzy, pony.
He was the size of a small horse, but thicker with a soft, round body. He was chestnut colored with a white star on his forehead. When Severin approached he did not shy away, but instead watched the cursed prince with bright eyes.
“You bought a pony,” Elle said, joining Severin at the pony’s stall. The pony was clearly ready for winter with a coat as thick and furry as a bear’s.
“Yes, a gelding—although his name his questionable.”
“What is it?”
“Rosemerry.”
Elle grinned at the sour looking Severin. “He sounds sweet. I am impressed he is calm with you.”
“He should be. I have given him so many apples Oliver fears he would grow ill if he is given many more,” Severin dryly said. “And he is not mine. He is yours.”
Elle, in the middle of scratching Rosemerry’s forehead for him, froze. “Pardon?”
“I bought him for your use.”
“Severin, I’m staying for a mere two more days. You shouldn’t have bothered.”
