Annatrice of Cayborne by Jonathan Davison

shoved it into man's unsuspecting maw.
    “What do you think?” She asked brusquely as the noble chewed quickly to clear his mouth before he replied.
    “A delightful morsel my lady, and all the better for being delivered by your fair hand.”
    The noble bent down and grasped Annatrice's fingers as if to offer a kiss. Annatrice pulled her hand away abruptly.
    “Personally, I believe it to be a little on the round side.” Annatrice remarked, a serious and thoughtful look upon her face.
    “Why of course, I was just thinking the very thing. The finest eggs should not be so profoundly rotund in their design; a more ovular shape would suit thy ladies palate?”
    Annatrice sighed at this fools weakness for a young woman and his steadfast attempts to be agreeable at all costs.
    “Indeed. I should like to one day find an egg with corners, I should think that such a fine fellow should be able to acquire the like?”
    “Such beauty and grace deserves only the finest fayre. I would comb the land and task every farmer in my province to find such an article if it would curry your favour.” The noble once again sought to grasp Annatrice's hand but with little success. It came as quite a surprise to Annatrice the mentality of this man, who obviously held riches and considerable respect. It intrigued Annatrice how she could manipulate him. It seemed that a beautiful woman could command great power over a weak willed man no matter what their social standing. She longed to understand what drove this person to make such a fool of himself when he was clearly an educated fellow.
    “So who are you then?” She continued with a sharp tone. She wanted to continue her analysis but did not want to encourage him.
    “My lady, I am Charleroux of Noxleigh, seventh Earl of Shearwater at your service.” For a third time, Charleroux sought the hand of the lady in order to deliver a protocol driven kiss. For a third time, Annatrice promptly denied him, her hand brought to her face to scratch a well timed itch.
    “Never heard of it.” Annatrice remarked, knowing full well that this was a most discourteous comment.
    “Why my lady, that is surprising. My lands are to the far west, by the seas and bordering Suleyman.”
    Interesting for Annatrice, she wondered if it would be appropriate to discuss a little politics.
    “Then you should be quite aware of the recent negotiations, they say Deo Canthi is massing an army in readiness?”
    Charleroux's face suddenly revealed he furrows of his brow.
    “Why my lady is too fair to be troubled by such trivial matters. May I offer you a delicious taste which I discovered earlier, a rare and most unctuous broth from the shores of Lake Dorridge?”
    Charleroux turned towards the large spread and began to wave his finger as if it were a wand as he looked for the aforementioned soup. Annatrice noticed how he had quickly dismissed her question. Was it his contempt for the role of women in the affairs of the land or possibly something more? Annatrice longed to find out; the man albeit grating on her nerves was quite a fascinating specimen. Charleroux clattered about spooning up a small serving of the broth whilst jostling for position at the table with other hungry revellers. Annatrice took the opportunity to pick up a small serving knife which accompanied a board of cheeses and concealed it up her long flared sleeve. Charleroux returned and with a daring yet nervous smile, held out the dripping spoon of brown liquid as if for Annatrice to suck the contents off at his pleasure. Being no stranger to poor etiquette, Annatrice raised her eyebrows and slurped the broth until the spoon was clean, the prominent gurgling noise bringing her to the attention of other revellers.
    “Hmm, delicious.” Annatrice said through gritted teeth. The broth tasted of sweet aniseed, an acquired taste.
    “Tell me Sire, tell me...everything.”
    Charleroux at first thought he had misheard Annatrice's unusual request and paused for a