It had been a challenging night of doing offers to and fro and negotiating the terms of the contract that would go into effect in October of that year — or at least so it would appear from the notes of the evening. In reality, which had become the fickle beast of what was not in the notes and would be forgotten by history as soon as it happened, the agreement had gone easily. The signature was all but a formality to codify the price Dorothy had whispered into Katherine’s ear earlier that day, and whatever price she asked was still lower than what the Sultan was happy to pay.

Then, after pretending that the price really was a favour from him to her, the pair of them began their justifications for what were to happen next. No, Freyza really could not agree to the price she asked for, but perhaps if she threw something in to soften the deal, he could pay the difference out of pocket. No, Katherine certainly had nothing of monetary value to contribute further than she already had done. Of course, then, the only logical conclusion available to seal the deal as it were, was for them to spend the night together. The notes were often written by Freyza just before Katherine’s morning council, or during it if the particular contract called for just a few more hours of difficult negotiations.

Such a contract was signed that morning and so Freyza had asked for breakfast to be served in his office, which he then cheerily brought over to his chamber, where Katherine was reading the notes he had written in order to justify them to her advisors.

‘Any questions, Your Majesty?’ he asked, lingering on the back of the parchment and the way it reflected in the silk sheets within which Katherine lay.

‘Your conversion appears to be wrong,’ she said. ‘Honest mistake or did you mean to screw me?’

He chuckled. ‘I did mean to screw you but not through fraudulent conversion of currency. You can cross out the amount in akce if that’s better for you, we’ll use the conversion Dorothy proposed. Fine by me.’

Katherine looked up over the agreement and the platter of food caught her eye. ‘Say, is that a custard pie?’

Freyza placed the platter down in the middle of the bed and looked over at the dish he most suspected of being what she had seen. ‘I’m not sure. Are there generally blackberries on those?’

‘Nobody knows I’m in here, right?’ she asked. ‘I wonder why your servant picked all of my favorite things. And much too much for one person.’

‘If it helps, this is supposed to be the same breakfast Lady Louise had at her levée this morning. I suppose this is kind of a levée in and of itself, but the audience is a lot smaller.’ Freyza looked at the abundant assortment of cheeses, salads, tarts and breads, and began to doubt himself. ‘Perhaps it would be for the better if we sign no more paperwork until October, just to be sure.’

She quickly took a cherry from one of the silver platters, though only noticed that it was part of the decoration on a sugared fruit tart until after she had plucked it from its generous whipped cream throne within the crust. It was perfectly ripe, sweet enough especially with the wet cast of whipped cream still stuck to it, yet so tart that her jaws tensed up slightly. As charmingly as she could, she drew the pit from her tongue and put it on the silver filligree platter, towards the edge.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘Or I’d propose we continue negotiations in Bourrac, or even in Ilworth. I’d like to not go three months until I am by your side again. And more importantly, I’d like to not go another second without a slice of that pie.’

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Freyza had gotten used to Katherine’s casual way of talking about their affair but still had to keep himself from going red-faced whenever she did so. He took the delicate butter knife in his hand and decided upon a place to cut, just between two plump blackberries embedded in the hard caramel that had formed a crust on the custard. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have a single plate,’ he said. ‘It’s hard to convince someone you’re eating alone if you ask for two plates with your breakfast.’

‘Did you ask for something to drink?’ she asked, easing herself out from under the sheets. ‘I’ll try to eat above the platter.’

He shook his head. ‘All is good. The sheets will be changed today either way, so make a mess if you wish. Let me see if we have any wine.’

She had hoisted herself up and sat tailorwise opposite him, her loose shift backlit to reveal the narrow shape of her body. It had amused him since they had started seeing one another that it had never occurred to him just how small Katherine was. Years of seeing her from a distance, dressed up to create the illusion of regality, had made him imagine her as being Louise-sized, sturdy, tall and even muscular for a lady. However once she sat opposite him those months ago, and especially once he had held her hand in his, he realised that compared to her, he almost felt grotesquely oversized.

Yet that was not for how much she ate. While he sought the wine he had hidden in his room — hidden just in case his fellow Sbaian nationals were to visit him — she lay a hand beneath the slice he had separated and held the bottom of it while she took the first bite. The flaky crust had gone soft from the weight of the heavy custard, jiggling as a bite was removed from it, thick as cheese. The top, caramelized from baking, almost had a salty tang to it, that mixed with the sour blackberries. The scent of the pie alone, with the sweet eggy custard and the delightful foresty note of the foraged berries, was enough to make one’s mouth water.

‘Do you ever miss your own country, Freyza?’ she asked, still delicately holding the end of the slice she had been handed, both hands covered in flaky pastry and scraps of custard, blue-black juice having stained her mouth and fingertips. ‘Even though they don’t have custard pie there? And no wine?’

He had returned and now looked closely at what was left of the pastry. ‘If I missed it so much, I’d go back,’ he said. ‘Which I likely will one day — even without custard pie and without wine. Perhaps I’ll ask King Henri if he would agree with me bringing a few Sbaian cooks one of these days, so we can expand your cultural education.’

She snorted. ‘I consider my cultural education quite expanded since before our first deal, Master Freyza, I must admit I don’t think there’s much more stretch to it.’

Freyza had not even had a bite yet. Now Katherine picked up food for herself and had a goblet to her side, he felt like it would be all right for him to begin his breakfast as well. His stomach was rumbling.

‘Usually it only hurts for a second, no?’ he asked, turning to a bunch of green grapes and picking a few off the stem with a delightfully crisp snap. They were hard and had a juicy crunch between his teeth. ‘In all seriousness, though, Lady Katherine. Right now there is nothing there for me in Tougaf, from where I hail. One day, however, there will be.’

Katherine ate contently for a while, attacking the pillowy brioche buns stacked with salty-sweet cheese so soft she had spread it with the butter knife. The supple bread was so airy that it melted the moment it was bit into.

‘I’d like to not consider that day yet,’ she said. ‘We’ve much to trade. You’ve got a lot of money to make and so have I. The treasury needs it.’

‘Many contracts to sign,’ Freyza added, absentmindedly biting into a fruit tart.

Katherine hummed in agreement, her mouth still full.

‘Likely many missed morning councils for you, unfortunately,’ he said.

Katherine shook her head and raised her hand to gesture him to wait before speaking on until she had swallowed the bite she had just taken. ‘If I could I’d never have morning council again,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’d never be out of bed before noon if I could. So that’s nothing to mourn.’

He smiled a watery smile: he knew she hated morning council, breakfast with the advisors, being dressed by her maids, the occasional levée. Whenever he could keep her away from them, he would.

Freyza took a sip of his wine. ‘Finish what you want to,’ he said. ‘Leave the rest here so my assistant may take it without having to see you here. I have some matters to tend to this morning. It’s been a pleasure once again, Your Majesty.’

Her jaws were clenched.

There was no embassy business to tend to on a Sunday.