18 #3
Sin laughs, the sound so genuine, so heartening, that I take a step. Then another. Sin’s facade hardens back into prince, but he doesn’t release my hand until we officially enter the Great Hall. And then I’m on my own.
In seconds, I meet the gazes of three dozen of the most beautiful and undeniably dangerous people I’ve ever had the misfortune to be around. I suck in a breath. Loose it from shaking lips.
The Great Hall could very well be my own torture chamber dressed up as a luxurious banquet.
Long tables haphazardly surround a massive round table dressed in velvet tablecloths and sparkling gold silverware.
Chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling, sweet beeswax candles flickering between ornate bronze roses and thorns.
Ravens perch on the metalwork branches, and it takes a moment for me to realize they’re not real.
Adamantine birds chirp and caw with sweet, morning birdsong before flapping loud wings and soaring to the next chandelier.
Windows flood the room with natural lighting as well, and there’s a breeze like spring winds that tangles in my hair and draws me deeper and deeper into the room.
And the smell —my stomach growls, my nose twitching as it follows the intoxicating scents of salty bacon, fennel sausage, and savory, herbaceous eggs to the bone-white plates awaiting us.
I’ve never been this hungry in my life, and I’m ready to throw myself into a seat and start chowing down.
Unfortunately, however, the only seat remaining empty is at the round table, between Calix and Antionette.
Directly across from Evie, and diagonal to Sinclair. Possibly the worst seat in the house.
I take it hesitantly, my gown brushing against Calix so much that he shifts his chair away from mine.
I glower at him; he returns the expression in full.
And Antionette—she angles away from me, using her thick blonde hair as a curtain to separate us.
Hopefully this meal flies by quickly. I grab my fork, but Sin shakes his head.
“No,” he says, his voice a startling monotone. He picks up a napkin and drapes it across his lap, then collects the last fork on his right. “There are routines by which we abide.”
God. I wish I could parrot his words back at him, or maybe remind him of four seconds ago in the corridor when he held my hand and his touch burned against my palm.
But his gaze flashes, and he frowns, and I…
I think he’s remorseful. Of course, there’s no way to be sure.
Not in front of our peers, in front of the whole of the Great Hall when they’re watching us. Watching me .
Including the Wolf Queen, who sits on a baroque chair at a table for two in the back of the hall.
The seat beside her is empty, the place settings untouched and dusty, while her own place settings are affixed with soft boiled eggs and buttered toast. She raises a glass in my direction, and though I know it’s wine—can scent the bittersweet musk of fermented grapes—it looks like blood.
My stomach churns. Perhaps I’m not as hungry as I thought.
“It’s like sharing a meal with Instructor Palko’s hounds,” Evie says, not bothering to lower her voice as she speaks to Antionette— Nettie , I mentally correct, the only other Bitten in our classes. “Will she even dare to use a fork or just lick the plate clean with her tongue?”
“ Evie. The queen is listening,” Nettie whispers, and when the blonde girl turns to quickly glance at me, fear blazes in the amber of her own eyes.
She tugs at her collar, pulling it aside just enough that I catch sight of a nasty scar.
Purple and red webbing. Almost like a rash.
I squint, trying to place the familiarity of the scars, when Calix kicks my foot under the table.
I glare at him, but he nods at Sin, and I quickly understand that the prince is talking.
He’s talking, and we’re all meant to listen.
“We thank the universe for our blessings, we thank the stars for our strength, and we thank the moon for another peaceful night. Please, enjoy the feast.” He slices into a sausage, the nobility around us hanging on to his every movement, and brings it to his lips.
Only when he chews and swallows do the rest of them grab their own forks and dig in.
I blink in outright confusion, but Sin explains, “The king usually begins breakfast, but since he’s passed, the honor then goes to the firstborn child.”
“We don’t eat until Sin eats,” Calix says, ripping into a strip of bacon with a little less decorum than the rest of the surrounding werewolves. “And at supper, we don’t eat until the Wolf Queen eats.”
“I see,” I say for a second time in ten minutes. I will never understand this place. I will never be used to it. I will never feel completely safe here. But with every eye on me, I have no choice except to start eating. Each bite tastes like poison.
Calix huffs to himself. “I hope you’ve prepared her for today.”
“I haven’t. It’s not my job,” Sin answers smoothly. “Though, feel free to do so yourself.”
“No. Absolutely not.” Calix juts a thumb at me. “She is the opposite of an apt student. She almost blew up the alchemy room.”
“Perhaps that’s just her worst subject.”
“And you think any of today’s will be better?” Calix ruffles his dark hair, his brows furrowing. “It’s shocking enough that she didn’t drop dead before her first transformation. She’s ill prepared, and she doesn’t seem very bright.”
Evie snickers at that, and so does her brother, and then so does everyone else. Except Sin.
It’s not enough. His silent loyalty isn’t enough to ease the tension or the fury throttling my bones. I haven’t done anything to provoke Calix. “I can hear you perfectly well, you know,” I manage to say. “And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.”
“She can hear us,” Sin echoes, puncturing a second sausage as if he’s made the declaration of the century.
“She’s going to break her fork if she keeps holding it like that,” Calix says unhelpfully.
“ She doesn’t care.” I’ve been gripping the utensil so hard that it bends, and Evie hisses in disgust. I pivot away from her, choosing to glare at Calix instead. “Stop talking like I’m not here.”
“Forgive him,” Sin states in that same, apathetic voice. “Most of the castle believes he was born in a barn like a farm animal.”
“What was the name of your childhood imaginary friend?” Calix glowers. “Remind me?”
Sin leans back in his chair, his shirt fluttering open with the breeze and revealing taut golden muscles and a strong chest. God, he’s beautiful. I avert my gaze before my cheeks can redden.
“If you’re trying to embarrass me with Sir Dinklesworth, it won’t work,” Sin says. “He was a far better companion than you’ve ever been.”
“Oh?” Calix pops a bite of eggs into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before saying, “Did Sir Dinklesworth save your ass when you got lost in the woods and that weird lady almost kidnapped you?”
“She wasn’t weird. She offered me free candy, Calix. It would’ve been reprehensible to deny such a boon.”
It’s then that I decide to tune them out.
Whatever information I seek, it won’t be found there.
Or anywhere around us. Even Portia won’t hold my gaze for longer than a second.
When I ask Myles to pass a bowl of fruit, he merely shoves it in my direction with a grunt.
And Evie—well, she’s clearly enjoying my presence at breakfast since she can’t stop whispering about it.
Loudly. To Antionette. In front of everyone.
What’s the point of being a Truthseer if no one will talk to me? What’s the point of being a werewolf if I can’t immediately enact justice through brute force?
My stomach grumbles again, and I take a few tentative bites of breakfast with a new, unbent fork. Sin doesn’t tell me I’ve chosen the wrong utensil, so I eat faster. Until my plate is clear and Sin and Calix have stopped bickering like two old ladies in a bingo hall.
No one tells me what specifically awaits at our first lesson of the day—Combat and Conquest—and I’m left to assume that’s either a very good or very bad sign.