Pumpkin Soup

I ignore the questions in my head as the last of the men take their seats. Finally, I can motion for the beginning of the meal, and I can eat! I am starved, having spend almost the entire day in meetings and preparation for the surrender.

A line of well-dressed servants enter, each carrying a plat with a dome covering on top. Each of us guests have a plate set before us, and the servants unmask the delight that will tantalize our taste buds. It is a deep orange liquid with a creamy texture nestled in the fanciest china in the Palace, that the Duke hadn't taken, which is gilded with silver.

"An array of Villefranche specialties are prepared for tonight. To begin we have a hot soup made of pumpkin and other squash boiled together and then ground until all that is left is a paste which is watered down with stock from the boiling and cream. There are many spices added, but the strongest one is cinnamon." I stand and introduce the course to the group. I had agonized over this meal with the chef, having not explained its true audience, for hours, wanting it to be perfect to appease this voracious Prince.

I lower my spoon into the bowl of orange liquid and lift it to my mouth. "Bon Appetite." I call, and the greeting is echoed around the table by my advisors and a few of the Varzy leaders. By this one can see who has been trained on Bresse traditions and knows the before meal salutation. I am impressed that the Prince is among the group to have repeated. I hope that he will respect the customs of the people, helping with eh transition of country and power.

The soup is divine, sliding down ones throat with a balanced blend of spices, and the nutty flavor of the pumpkin and squash. I find the men around me nodding their approval of it.

"Duchess Pierrette-Danielle this is superb. It helps warm the bones after weeks of living out in the cold." Bertrand compliments. His praise brings joy to me, like a warm hug enveloping the fear built in my heart. I take his words as a sign that I have chosen well.

"I am glad to hear it is to your liking. All the dishes tonight are hot. We are in winter after all."

"You are thoughtful, for us poor soldiers." I smile at his compliments.

"Surely you are flattering me, giving too much credit. I merely wanted to create a meal that everyone could enjoy." I counter but am pleased with his assessment.

"I had heard you are considerate, so tell me about your plans for improving the city." Bertrand asks between bites.

It is awkward not including the Prince in our conversation. I glance over to him, but he is focused on eating his soup with a grace the other men are lacking. I take this as a sign that I don't need to fret over him.

"My focus has been on the sick and the orphans. Now there is an institution for the orphans in this palace, and the hospital has a large enough fund for a least year. The lower taxes will help with the general populous. I will need to aid in the transition under Prince Clement-Victor for the foreseeable future but will see what populous is most in need when I have time." I explain, concealing nothing. If I truly want respect for myself and the people, I need to be honest and full of dignity. The Prince, nor his men will appreciate schemes and conceit.

"Why did you choose to surrender instead of just doing charity work waiting for your father?" I laugh, my voice breaking though the room. Bertrand gawks at me, well I not the Prince assess me from the corner of my eye.

"You do know your master's reputation, right?" I look at Bertrand with a residual smile. His regard is guarded, unsure of my next reaction. "If it is even half true the most charitable work I could do was surrender on good terms."

His scrunched brows turn into smile. "You are fascinating. I will have to keep my eye on you." He states. I let the conversation die, unsure of his intentions, but unwilling to admit my ignorance. I had already assumed that I would be under surveillance, he didn't have to vocalize that idea.

I wonder my eyes around the table, finding the men have finished this first course. I motion to the servants, signaling for the next course of steaming food. I receive a nod as they all scurry out the door.

"What are we having next?" Bertrand asks with a gleam of joy in his eyes.

"I can see who our glutton is." I beam at his eagerness, feeling comfortable enough to jest with the man before me.

"What is next?" The question is repeated, but this time from Prince Clement-Victor's lips. My teasing attitude dissipates.