Mrs. Beale, whoever she was, was an optimist, Marian thought as she eyed the dishes. She hadn’t even found salt and pepper when she’d gone through the cupboards and pantry.

“So this should take care of today’s meals,” Yaslana said.

While she was grateful for the meals, Marian really wanted to know how long she could keep the dishes.

“And there’s this.” He took another step toward her and held out a thin stack of papers.

She took them, fanning them out before she actually looked at them. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she had to bite back a squeal.

Silver marks. A lot of silver marks. More than she’d ever seen in her life.

“This—” She had to clear her throat before she could get the words out. “This is the housekeeping account?” Oh, the meals she could make with these kinds of funds.

Frowning, he shifted his weight. “I have accounts set up at all the shops in Riada. When you do the marketing, just tell the shopkeeper to put it on my account.” He tipped his head toward the marks. “That’s for you. An advance in your wages. Since you haven’t been in Kaeleer very long, I figured there were things you’d need to buy for yourself.”

She felt the blood draining out of her head as she stared at the silver marks. “You’re advancing me a month’s wages?”

His frown deepened. “Half a month.”

Now she did squeal as she thrust out her hand. “I can’t take this!”

He took a step back. “Why not?”

“It’s too much.” Too agitated to think about what she was doing, she took a step toward him, still holding out the marks.

He took another step back.

“Who says it’s too much?” He sounded testy. “Besides, I can afford it.”

Marian shook her head. If you can afford it, why don’t you have any furniture? “It’s too much.”

“Look,” he said, a snarl rising in his voice. “My father suggested that as an acceptable wage for a housekeeper, and he should know. Hell’s fire, woman, there are enough servants at the Hall to populate a small village.”

She finally looked at him—and realized he was defensive . . . and nervous. It suddenly occurred to her that he’d never done this before, never had to decide things like wages or define the duties of household staff. So she folded the silver marks, put them in her skirt pocket, and said, “Thank you, Prince Yaslana.”

He looked as relieved as a man walking off a battlefield. “Fine. That’s settled.” He took another step back toward the archway. “I’ll go out and chop some wood.”

Marian glanced at the dishes on the counter. “Don’t you want to eat?”

“Sure. I’ll be out there. Just yell when it’s ready.”