Maud set the bowl of stew at the head of the table. She slid her hand across the back of the empty chair as she turned, purposefully drawing Draka’s attention to it. A plop of stew from the ladle filled a second bowl that she carried to the chair across from Draka.

  He raised a single eyebrow at her over narrowed eyes. Again, she slid her hand across the back of the chair, tapped it playfully with her thin fingers, and brought two mugs to the table. Draka reached for one. She happened to grab it first, fill it from a jug of ale, and set it with the bowl of stew at the vacant head of the table.

  Draka, grinning facetiously, reached for the second mug. Again, she scooped it up, filled it and set it with the other bowl, which happened to be where she plopped herself. She flicked her brows at him.

  His glare deepened. The grin was gone. His cheeks reddened. Maud straightened her back as she took a sip of her own mug, leaving a bit of froth on her upper lip. She daintily tapped a cloth on her lip before slowly scooping a spoonful of her stew up into her mouth. Again, she flicked her brow at him. This time, it was with a grin.

  Draka stiffened his jaw. He leaned to reach for the bowl at the head of the table. It was just out of reach. Maud regarded him with a challenging grin. Another sip of her mug. Another spoonful of her delicious stew that she made a face to compliment herself at such delightful perfection.

  He stopped trying to reach. She might have him. She studied him. Will he lift himself from the chair and sit in his proper place? No, he intended to only glare at her and jab a finger at the bowl then into the table where he decided it should be. Maud took another bite, humming at its deliciousness.

  Draka’s fist made the table bounce, stew and ale sloshing onto the table.

  Maud jumped to her feet. A puddle of stew and ale filled around her bowl and dripped over the side of the table onto her dress. She slammed her spoon with a splash. “Why won’t you just sit where you’re supposed to?”

  Draka didn’t have to rise out of his seat to reach over and pull her bowl and spoon to his. Her jaw dropped as Draka lowered his head and prayed.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Maud pulled the bowl back to her side.

  Draka, mouthing whatever he was praying with his head bowed and his eyes clenched shut, reached over and pulled the bowl back. Maud moved it to her side with a hushed gasp. With two fingers, as daintily as she had wiped the froth from her lip, Draka pulled the bowl back to his side. She lifted it before he finished crossing himself.

  She carried the bowl to the far side of the room. It was too hot to just drink. All she needed was…the spoon dangling between Draka’s fingers as bait. Challenge accepted, with fervor. Maud’s eyes blazed as she tipped the bowl just enough to gulp it down with little more than a trickle of the broth escaping from her cheeks.

  Draka’s golden eyes looked brighter than ever. He turned to the bowl at the head of the table, sitting in its own puddle. He glared. Maud took a victorious breath from her slurps and met his glare in kind. Only hers was goading.

  He stretched again to reach the bowl. Maud waited. His glare softened and he tucked his lips with a nod. And then he hopped his chair toward the bowl. Before she could reach it, he had the bowl in front of him and was digging a spoon into it. The spoon reached his mouth, Maud took his bowl before he could get another.

  This time, she set the bowl close to the edge at the head of the table. Draka slammed his fist again. His face was red with anger she knew he couldn’t express in any other way. If he were any other man, he’d have backhanded her by now. But she knew him better than that. This wasn’t their first time having this particular argument.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  He jammed a finger where he wanted the bowl to be returned.

  “No,” Maud crossed her arms. “I’ve told you before. That,” she indicated the chair, “is where you sit. Always. Not there, or there, or there, or anywhere else when you’re sitting at the table! There! Just there.”

  Draka jammed his finger again. She could see the heat in his face as readily as she could see a pot ready to boil.

  “Fine, have it your way,” and she slapped the bowl across the table. Draka leapt from his chair, tipping it behind him with hands out in helpless, raging, confusion. Maud nearly doubled over laughing. She turned it into a mock of the Baron’s bow, “My…Prince…my a-potta-gees, but it…” She struggled to breathe between guffaws, “...Seems that I spilled something!”

  Draka was stunned. He must have thought she went mad. She had…momentarily. But that was because he drove her to it. She straightened her dress, still hiccupping a chuckle here and there, and took a long deep breath. Then she laughed again because he was still standing exactly as he had when she flipped his bowl.

  She cast the laugh away with a snickering cough. With a cloth she grabbed from near the table—she might have gotten steadier hands, but she still spilled a lot more than she liked him knowing about—she cleaned the spot at the head of the table. Standing behind the chair, she nodded for him to sit in it.

  He cocked a brow at her. She lifted her chin, waiting. He replaced his own chair and sat in it, slapping a stretch of his arms and straightening his own shirt sleeves defiantly. Then he made a sign for her to put a bowl in front of him.

  “Fine,” Maud bit her lower lip at him. He brimmed in victory. One side of her nose crinkled with a sneer. She wrapped the cloth around her hand, nodding at him. “Fine, you win.” She put her wrapped hand on one side of the pot. “Sit. In. Your. Place. Or I tip it.” She tipped the pot just enough for some to spill onto the hearth fire and sizzle.

  Draka was on his feet in an instant, silently pleading for her to stop. She looked from him to the chair at the head of the table. Then tipped the pot a little more. More sizzles.

  Draka held his palms out for her to stop as he moved to the chair. Slowly, so she could see that he was doing it, he slid into the chair and stiffened. The look of worry didn’t leave his face until he was finally able to eat the fresh bowl she set in front of him.

  She shook her head at him when she finally sat in her normal chair on his left. He lifted the empty bowl for her to get more. She was leaning on her elbow, smiling and shaking her head at him. “No.”

  His worry deepened. She could see the frustration rising again. She giggled, “There’s only enough left for Ma.”

  He looked as if she had told him Vigora had died or something worse. She didn’t mean to laugh at it, but there was no helping it. Stubborn as an ox until you refuse to feed him.

  “Serves you right. That’s your spot,” Maud meant to laugh. Instead, a tear fell down her cheek. She put a hand to it in surprise and filled her lungs to prevent the rush of more. “Just, sit there from now on,” she turned her head to wipe her eyes on her dress.

  He put a hand on her shoulder.

  “That’s all you can do, isn’t it?” Maud growled at him.

  Draka retracted his hand.

  “You know, everyone else that comes here, you scribble on some paper and they know what you’re saying, what you’re thinking. What you mean! And me, I have to guess. When is your stupid oath over with?”

  Draka blinked at her.

  “Nevermind,” Maud slid from her chair. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she curtsied, “My prince.”

  He winced as she lifted the pot and started for the door. That one stuck harder than she meant it, but she couldn’t stay any longer. She wanted to cry. It had been a long time since she had cried. But she didn’t want to cry in front of him anymore. He would—he would think it was his fault. It wasn’t.

  It was hers.