“Can we clear a place for Nimbus to sit?” Amilia asked, and immediately Cora and Nipper were cleaning off the baker’s table and setting it just as they had before.

“Thank you,” Amilia said. “You don’t need to go to this much trouble—but thank you, everyone.”

“Pardon me, my lady,” Nimbus addressed her. “If I may be so bold, it is not entirely proper for a lady of nobility to convey appreciation for services rendered by subordinates.”

Amilia sat down beside him and sighed. She dropped her chin into her hands and grimaced. “I don’t know how to be noble. I don’t know anything, but I’m expected to teach Modina how to be an empress?” The contrast of fortune and pending disaster left her perplexed. “His Grace might as well kill me now.” She took the parchment from Nimbus and shook it in her hand. “At least now that I’m noble, I might get a quick beheading.”

Leif delivered a plate of stew. Nimbus looked down at the bowl and the scattering of utensils arrayed around him. “The kitchen staff is not very experienced in setting a table, are they?” He picked up a small two-prong fork and shook his head. “This is a shellfish fork, and it should be on the left of my plate … assuming I was eating shellfish. What I do not have is a spoon.”

Amilia felt stupid. “I don’t think anyone here knows what a fork is.” She looked down incredulously at the twisted spindle of wire. “Even the nobility don’t use them. At least, I’ve never washed one before.”

“That would depend on where you are. They are popular farther south.”

“I’ll get you a spoon.” She started to get up when she felt his hand on hers.

“Again,” he said, “forgive my forwardness, but a lady does not fetch flatware from the pantry. And you are now in the nobility. You there!” He shouted at Nipper as the boy flew by with a bucket. “Fetch a spoon for Her Ladyship.”

“Right away,” the boy replied, setting the bucket down and running to the pantry.

“See?” he said. “It is not difficult, and takes just a bit of confidence and the right tone of voice.”

Nipper returned with the spoon. It never touched the table. Nimbus took it right from his hand and began to eat. Despite his ravenous state, he ate slowly, occasionally using one of the napkins that he placed neatly on his lap to dab the corners of his mouth. He sat straight, in much the same way Lady Constance had—his chin up, his shoulders squared, his fingers placed precisely on the spoon. She had never seen anyone eat so … perfectly.