Book Two: The Larkspur's Longing ~ A tale of deep obsession and devotion

Chapter Twenty-one: Winds of Change

The early evening sun cast a gentle, golden glow through the window of Windridge Tower, revealing the bed chamber's transformation into an impromptu dining space.

Callidus and Cressida's beds, along with bookshelves, a vanity, and a small desk, were stacked against the wall supported by a shift in air pressure that Callidus idly maintained. A round table stolen from a nearby sitting room sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by similarly pilfered chairs.

Mint skillfully balanced a silver tray on her shoulder as she placed plates in front of each person. Quail's gaze curiously followed her every move, his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair, "That's quite a distance to make lugging all that food. You do that every mealtime?"

"...I don't mind," Mint said softly, her eyes darting towards Cressida, "Her Highness doesn't ask for much, and it's a lot better than what they used to have me doing in the kitchen."

"They had you climbing stairs in the kitchen?"

Mint shook her head, a fleeting smile gracing her lips, "No, but they used to shout. I'd choose stairs over that any day."

Quail's eyes darted towards Callidus, his expression wry. "Nice to see you reserve all your shouting for me, Your Highness."

Callidus admired how the evening light played upon Cressida's eyes, but his attention briefly shifted as he cast an unamused glance at the old man.

(Callidus hadn't shouted at Quail in weeks.)

"Pardon him, Your Highness," Cilla commented diplomatically, "This man could be in paradise and still find something to complain about."

Quail sighed theatrically as he muttered, "We're far from paradise, Cilla. My knees are aching. I guess I really am getting old." He leaned across the table, his hazel eyes glinting, "I don't suppose you could carry me on the way back down, Your Highness?"

"I could throw you down the stairs," Callidus replied dryly, "That would be much faster."

"Callidus..." Cressida warned, and Callidus felt a flicker of amusement bubble up.

"I am simply offering to help, my love."

"I'm looking forward to a nice dinner together," Cressida began, meeting Callidus's eyes with a purposeful expression, "if both of you behave."

"Yes, very nice to dine in your prison cell for a change," Quail replied, before he let out a grumble as Cilla smacked his arm. "Alright, Cilla. Message received," he mumbled, rubbing his arm with a rueful expression. "I'll stop making His Highness regret inviting us up here. But once you get your dessert, I'll be back at it."

"Thank you," Cilla replied, curtly.

"Speaking of, Your Highness," Quail continued, turning his attention to Callidus, "not that I'm ungrateful for the change in environment, but why? I didn't think you particularly cared for our company."

All eyes turned to Callidus.

The silence lingered as Callidus met Cressida's curious gaze, and he replied in a gentle low voice, "...I simply thought it would make Cressida happy."

Cressida's cheeks tinged with a faint blush, and she glanced down at her plate, a small smile playing on her lips as Cilla and Quail exchanged a concerned glance.

Mint delicately placed a plate in front of the unoccupied chair before setting the tray onto a nearby table. After a moment's hesitation, she took a seat beside Cilla, clearly unaccustomed to dining at the same table she had just served. As Mint settled in, Cilla's fingers lightly brushed against hers, imperceptibly drawing closer.