The Black Swan by Mercedes Lackey

the trees to him. Or if they were not pleased, they took care not to show it.
    But Siegfried was well-liked in the village, and he persuaded them to share the table with him. It didn’t take a great deal of persuading; there was an unspoken understanding that if their prince invited them to be a little less than formal with him, they need not fear his offended pride. But the invitation had to come from him ; that, too, was understood.
    In a very short time, Siegfried had a plate of excellent sausage and sauerkraut in front of him—a dish his mother would have regarded with horror, had it been placed in front of her—and a stein of exceptional beer to wash it down. He stayed silent, listening to the gossip of the village, and marveling at how very like it was to the gossip of the palace. It’s a cruder copy of our intrigues, he decided, his good humor restored. Just like they try to copy our dress. We must be like a marvelous play to them.
    Although he could while away as much time here as he wished, the rest of the inn’s patrons had work to do, and sooner than he would have liked, Siegfried was left alone at his wooden table under the oaks planted in front of the inn. He pondered his empty stein glumly, and was just about to feel sorry for himself, when a comely hand bearing a pitcher refilled the tankard for him.
    He let his gaze travel from the hand, to the plump, round arm; from the arm, to the rest of his benefactress.
    â€œYour glass was empty, sire,” the woman said, with a little flirt of her rust-colored linen skirts as she stepped back. The prince allowed his gaze to linger, but her only reaction was a broadening of her smile.
    â€œI haven’t seen you here before,” Siegfried replied as he noted the neat figure in the tightly laced bodice and chemise, her breasts displayed by the low chemise in a most satisfactory fashion, a plain apron tied tightly about her waist to emphasize how small it was.
    â€œThat’s because you haven’t been here for quite some time—sire.” She dipped a mocking curtsy. “I came up from the country to work for Fritz this spring. I’d planned to leave after the haying and harvest—make my way to a city—”
    He might have been mistaken about the gypsy, but there was no mistaking the promises in her tone and posture.
    â€œDare I think you could be persuaded to stay?” he asked, his tone as mocking—and as promising—as hers. He liked what he saw: a fine, experienced figure of a woman, who knew what she wanted and what was expected of her. Handsome, not pretty, and with just enough audacity to be intriguing.
    And Fritz had no problem with freeing his girls for other duties. He almost smiled at that. The old panderer knew his tastes—the innkeeper had probably hired this wench on, knowing that Siegfried would see her sooner or later, and expecting a handsome reward out of it!
    Well, he’ll get one.
    The woman pretended to consider his words. “I could be persuaded—if I thought there was a good place in it for me,” she replied boldly. “I’d rather serve tables at the palace than work in the fields at harvest.”
    It was his turn to pretend to consider what she had said. “They’re very particular at the palace about their servers,” he told her, with mock seriousness. “I’m not sure you’d suit. . . .”
    She leaned over the table, giving him a good, long look down her chemise. “Would the prince care to try me to see if I’d . . . suit? I’m sure Fritz will grant us a chamber for the interview. He is a very accommodating master.”
    His hose became uncomfortably binding, but her attitude was so audacious that he nearly laughed out loud. “I believe that would be a good idea,” he replied.
    She turned with surprising grace and another little flirt of her skirts to display neat ankles and calves, and sauntered toward the inn