Princess of Shadows (Obsidian Queen Book 2) by Shari L. Tapscott

Author:Shari L. Tapscott [Tapscott, Shari L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-01-29T18:30:00+00:00

12

Breakfast is a wholly uncomfortable affair. We’re in the kitchen nook. A basket of cheerful chrysanthemums adorns each table, and though the spread is still luxurious, it’s far less formal than dinner. There are buffet tables across the northern wall, all filled to the brim with platters and chafing dishes with all manner of breakfast goodies—croissants and other pastries, assorted meats, five different types of egg dishes, and beverages galore.

It seems most guests have heard about Phillip’s unfortunate end, and they’re guzzling coffee and mimosas, trying to process the rough night with copious quantities of caffeine and alcohol.

“Pick your poison,” Jonathan says, champagne in one hand and coffee in the other.

I accept the coffee, proud to be a member of Team Caffeine.

Not surprisingly, very few are loading plates. A few people nibble here and there, but we’ve all developed a sudden loss of appetite. Everyone except for Jonathan.

I eye him, mildly jealous of his iron stomach. “How can you eat?”

“What?” He helps himself to several strawberry and cream crepes. “I barely knew the guy.”

He grabs another plate and loads it with more crepes. Then he shoves it into my hands. “This is a twenty-five-thousand-dollar breakfast. It’s a crime not to eat.”

“Thank goodness someone’s hungry,” a woman says from behind us.

We turn and find Elizabeth, lady of the dark house herself.

She’s about my height, with slim hips and a slender build. I study her as Olivia’s words from last night bounce around in my head. The woman’s brunette hair is expertly highlighted and cut into a tasteful bob, and she wears simple pearls in her ears and a fitted black apron. Nothing about her makes me think she’s the tawdry mistress of sordid desires, but I suppose looks can be deceiving.

She carries a platter of what looks and smells like pumpkin waffles. “I made enough for an army, and no one’s eating.”

Startled, I turn back to the table. “You made all this?”

“No, not everything,” she says with a soft, motherly laugh. “I order the pastries from a bakery in Frisco, and Jenna helps.”

“Jenna?” I ask.

I turn to where Elizabeth gestures and find a young woman pulling an industrial-sized tray of muffins from the oven. She straightens, notices us looking her way, and gives us a smile. She then takes off the oven mitts and pushes a lock of chocolate brown hair behind her ear, toward her tidy braided bun. Even from here I can tell her eyes are sky blue and striking.

Jonathan makes a funny noise, one I assume is because the girl is gorgeous.

“Our chef,” Elizabeth says, “She does most of the cooking, but I insist on taking the lead with breakfast. It’s my favorite meal of the day.”

She casts an affectionate look toward her stepdaughter, who’s talking to Will’s wife. “When Olivia was young, we’d make breakfast feasts for her dolls. Obviously, we’d have gobs of leftovers, but after our staff had their fill, I’d take as much to the local food banks as I was able. They weren’t as strict about things back then.

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