“Do try the soup, Your Majesty,” I say sweetly. “I hear the scullions made it before they left. They seemed very eager to please their new employer.”

  Oskar glares at me over his spoon, and I know, with deep satisfaction, that tonight his head is throbbing almost as much as his ego. I am going to annoy that man just as much as he annoys me. He’ll pay for every slight, every insult, every innuendo.

  If I’m feeling particularly petty, he’ll pay for making us remain in Dobile instead of letting us have our honeymoon. He’ll pay for everything. I pull out a set of solid gold utensils and hand them to Kenric. I pull out a second set and stir my soup cautiously. The soup is lukewarm. I can tell just by looking at the congealed film on the surface. Oskar is slurping it sullenly, the sound echoing in the awkward silence of the hall.

  I push my bowl away. "I cannot eat this," I announce, my voice carrying clearly to the high table. "It looks... distressed."

  Oskar glares at me. "It is soup. Eat it."

  "I prefer my food with a bit more... joy," I reply.

  I snap my fingers. The doors to the Great Hall swing open. A procession of porters enters, staff from The Violet Rose and several local bakeries. They are laden with steaming platters and baskets.

  There is a roasted fowl dripping with glaze, baskets of Rekke’s famous dumplings, towers of pastries, and a cask of spiced wine. The scent of rosemary, garlic, and fresh bread instantly overpowers the smell of the King's sad, lukewarm broth. The entire court turns, noses twitching like hungry rabbits. Duchess Ina is busy biting her lip. Duke Jellema looks as if he’s not sure he should congratulate me or laugh. Duchess Priscilla is chewing her cheek as she gives me a secretive nod of approval.

  "What is this?" Oskar demands, rising halfway out of his chair.

  "I foresaw a potential... gap... in the hospitality tonight," I explain smoothly. "Given the staffing shortage I inadvertently caused, I took the liberty of ordering takeout. Please, place it here." The porters load our section of the table until it groans. I pick up a dumpling, blow on it gently, and pop it into my mouth.

  "Delicious," I moan, perhaps a bit louder than necessary.

  I look at Oskar, who is staring at the roasted duck with naked longing.

  "Oh, Your Majesty," I say, feigning sudden realization. "Where are my manners? You must be starving. Would you like a care package? I understand budgets are tight, and good food is expensive."

  I gesture to a porter. "Take a plate to the King. He seems…. peckish. And perhaps a few dumplings for the Duke de Boer? He looks faint."

  Oskar turns purple. "I do not need your charity!"

  "It is not charity, Your Majesty," I smile. "It is foreign aid. Centis is a developing economy, after all."

  As the porter sets a magnificent plate before the fuming King and another for Queen Grethe. Grethe looks as if her corset might bust if she keeps holding her laughter in. I send plates to Iwan, Duchess Ina and Duke Jellema. In a burst of charity, I also send a plate to Duke Nelis.

  I lean into my husband, who is shaking with laughter as he tears into a loaf of bread.

  "I am going to pay for this later," he whispers.

  "No," I correct him, sliding a stack of gold coins into his hand beneath the table. "You aren't paying for anything. I am paying. And right now, I am buying you the best show in town."

  I raise my goblet, filled with the superior wine I just had delivered, toward the King. "To renovations!" I toast.

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  Oskar stares at me, defeat warring with hunger. Finally, hunger wins. He picks up a dumpling from the "charity plate" and stuffs it into his mouth, chewing angrily to the beat of the tavern music. I smile.

  Explode, I think at him. Go on. Do it. You know you want to.

  Once Kenric, Ulrick, Tobias and my ladies are done eating, I offer the rest to the court. Plates are snatched up and there are almost a few fights over the dumplings. With little to nothing left, the porters pack up the now empty dishes and scurry away. The party continues since the only way Oskar can punish me by refusing to leave. No one else is allowed to depart the gathering until he does.

  I wake up feeling remarkably refreshed, despite the late hour at which the "renovation celebration" ended. Kenric has already left for the morning, likely to smooth over ruffled feathers at the Exchequer’s office regarding the sudden inflation of cleaning wages in the city. I dress quickly, still in Fey silk, practical but elegant as I head straight for the Old Mint. The army of maids Melina hired has done a miraculous job. The windows sparkle, the floors are scrubbed down to the grain, and the scent of lemon oil hangs heavy in the air. Holger, Merovech, Dominico and their team are already measuring walls, windows, doorways and generally looking pleased with the blank canvas.

  However, as I walk through the lower corridors toward the vault, a grey blur darts across my path. A mouse. I frown. I had cleared out the bulk of the rats during the initial purchase, bargaining them away with promises of food elsewhere . But mice are persistent, and a building this old, filled with grain for the workers and new construction materials, attracts vermin.

  “We will need mousers,” Melina notes, stepping back from the rodent. “The palace has dozens. Perhaps we can buy a few kittens?”

  An idea occurs to me and I smile slowly. “Why buy kittens when there is a standing army of veterans just down the street?”

  “You mean… the palace cats?” Melina asks.

  “Precisely,” I reply.

  Oskar’s palace is teeming with cats. They are necessary to keep the larder safe and the rats out of the royal bedchamber. But they are often kicked by guards, shooed by cooks, and fed scraps, if that.

  “Ulrick,” I call out to the young lord, who is currently admiring a fireplace. “I have another task for you. I need fish. The best, freshest catch from the docks. And cream. heavy cream. Enough to fill a horse trough.”

  Ulrick doesn’t even blink. “Are we feeding a leviathan?”

  “We are recruiting security,” I reply.

  Shrugging, Ulrick holds out his hand. I drop a couple of gold coins into and he’s off.

  An hour later, Ulrick is back and the courtyard of the Old Mint smells strongly of the sea. Large platters of fresh fish and bowls of thick cream are arranged in the shade of the garden wall. I have also had the carpenters build several small, carpeted shelters, heated, of course, by a warming charm I tucked under the cushions. I stand in the center of the courtyard and close my eyes. I reach out with my senses, past the walls of the Mint, down the street, and into the nooks and crannies of Oskar’s palace.

  Speaking to animals is easier than hive minds . Cats are individuals, haughty and self-interested, but they understand a good trade.

  “Little hunters,” I project my voice, not aloud, but along the currents of magic that animals sense. “Warriors of the hearth. Listen to me.”

  I feel ears perking up all over the palace. From the kitchens to the stables, from the guard rooms to the King’s own solar.

  “Your service is unappreciated,” I tell them, weaving the intent into the message. “You are kicked. You are starved. You hunt for scraps. I offer a new territory. The Old Mint. Here, there is fish. It is fresh, not rotten. There is cream. There are soft cushions that never go cold. And there are no boots to kick you.” I push the scent of the fresh fish along the magical connection, letting it drift through the palace windows. “Come,” I invite them. “Claim your new kingdom. Leave the old one to the rats.”

  For a moment, nothing happens. Then, I see the first one atop the garden wall. He’s an old, scarred orange tom with half an ear missing. He eyes the fish. He eyes me. I nod respectfully. He drops down and begins to eat. Then the rest of them come. It starts as a trickle. The skinny calico from the kitchens is followed by a black mouser from the stables. Then it becomes a flood. Dozens of cats stream over the walls and through the gates. They pour into the courtyard, a river of fur and tails. They ignore the workers, heading straight for the feast I have prepared.

  “Gods above,” Ulrick whispers, watching as a particularly fluffy white cat joins the feast. This one I recognize as Queen Grethe’s favorite lap warmer as she trots elegantly toward a bowl of cream. “That is every cat in the palace.”

  “Not every cat,” I correct him. “I imagine a few kittens are too young to make the journey. But the mothers will fetch them later.” I watch as the cats settle in. They eat their fill, wash their faces, and then curl up in the sun or in the heated boxes.

  They look content. They look like they are never leaving.

  “What happens at the palace now?” Melina asks, looking at the empty street leading back to the royal residence.

  “Well,” I say, dusting my hands off. “Nature abhors a vacuum. Without the cats, the mice and rats will become… bold. I suspect Oskar will find his sleep disturbed by scratching in the walls very soon.”

  It is a petty blow, perhaps but I’m in a mood to be petty. Very, very petty.

  Have you have a cat? Let me know in the comments...