“This place looks very exclusive,” Emmera says with a giggle.
My insides crochet themselves into tight knots. It’s an unpleasant sensation that’s mostly trepidation and mounting dread. Prince Kevon will never believe I’ve changed my mind, and he’ll believe me even less if I steer him toward one of the Noble girls.
Our driver informs us to wait for the production assistants to shoot footage of us stepping out of the limousine. When they arrive with cameras and lighting equipment, Emmera shoots out first and poses by the camera. Vitelotte and I continue toward the restaurant and are the first to meet Prince Kevon.
Prince Kevon stands a few feet from the doorway, dressed in a velvet jacket the color of eggplants with a pale purple shirt. The shades complement his blue-black hair and olive skin, and the fabric skims his athletic frame.
His gaze meets mine, and the smile on his lips freezes. I hold my breath and wait for him to react. Apparently, nobody told him it would be a group date. Emmera bustles in behind us, breaking the tension, and he kisses Vitelotte’s hand first, then Emmera’s, and then mine.
The touch of his lips on my knuckles sets my skin on fire. My breath hitches, and my cheeks heat.
A frown crosses his features, but he smooths out the expression and turns to Vitelotte. “I must be the luckiest fellow in Phangloria to dine with three ladies. Was this your idea?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” she lies.
He places a hand on the small of her back and guides her through the empty restaurant. Emmera and I walk behind the pair, and I can’t help but stare at his large hand on her narrow waist.
As expected from watching Prince Kevon’s date with Ingrid at the beginning of the Trials, the restaurant is empty. Paper lanterns illuminate dark wood floors that stretch out to walls that look like they’re made of paper and matted straw.
All the dining tables are low, with crimson floor cushions that match a red-and-gold embroidered robe that hangs on the wall. I’ve never heard of people displaying clothing like art, and Prince Kevon assures us that the women of Japan used to wear such fine garments.
A man stands in front of a doorway at the far end of the restaurant, an auburn-haired chef, wearing a tall hat and white robes. He dips into a bow that bends his body in a ninety-degree angle and sweeps his arm toward a private dining room.
In the middle of the room is a U-shaped table set for four. Its interior consists of a flat griddle that’s already smoking with heat. Raw ingredients sit in square bowls around the hotplate, and it looks like the chef will cook them as we watch.
Prince Kevon helps Vitelotte into the seat on the widest part of the U and places Emmera on the other side, next to Vitelotte. My stomach tightens as he holds out the seat perpendicular to his.
“Thank you.” I fix my gaze on the place setting of little bowls and away from the handsome prince.
“It’s my pleasure,” he murmurs back.
The chef positions himself behind the hotplate and explains teppanyaki to Prince Kevon and the cameras positioned behind us. After encouraging us to try a clear soup that tastes of fermented soybeans, he pours oil on the hotplate, then another clear fluid. He points a lighter at the hotplate, which bursts into three-foot-tall flames.
Emmera shrieks, Prince Kevon laughs, and I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle my shock.
As soon as the flames ebb, the chef wipes the hot metal with a cloth and then juggles a pair of spatulas that look sharper than blades. They clank and click in a rhythm that would be entertaining if I had been forewarned about bursts of fire and sharp, flying instruments.
I bite down on my lip and turn to Prince Kevon. “Is this supposed to happen?”
“This is my first time in a teppanyaki.” Prince Kevon turns to Vitelotte and smiles. “This will also be my first time trying this cuisine, so thank you for expanding my horizons.”
A tight fist clenches my heart. That’s the sort of thing he would say to me. I glance up to find two cameras pointed at my face.
It’s only when the chef places a large fillet of beef on the hotplate that I can finally relax and enjoy the show, especially when he pours an oily sauce over it, and fills the air with the scent of spices and garlic.
Over the next several minutes, the chef performs an array of culinary feats with knives as large as short-swords, giant forks, and a selection of spatulas. He places shrimp, chicken, lamb, and lobster on our plates, and busies himself cooking vegetables.
We eat rice and drink miso soup in between courses, and Vitelotte picks up the chopsticks, arranges them in her fingers, and pops a scallop in her mouth.
Emmera gasps. “Where did you learn to eat with sticks?”
“My brother and I used to practice picking up stones with twigs,” she replies with a shrug.
Prince Kevon chuckles and picks up his chopsticks. “Would you two like to learn?”
Emmera leans across her table. “Yes, please!”
He turns to me and smiles. “How about you, Zea?”
Heat rushes to my stupid cheeks. Doesn’t my body realize I’m in the biggest trouble of my life?
We spend the next five minutes practicing with our chopsticks. When Prince Kevon turns around to help Emmera, I pick up the meat with my fingers, and Emmera does the same when he turns to help me. Vitelotte watches us both with narrowed eyes but doesn’t mention our cheating.
As the chef sets down his knife and fries a mound of rice with vegetables and finely chopped meat, Emmera leans
