5. Belle #2
I should be more skeptical, but my stomach clenches.
I pick up my gold fork and knife with shaky hands, attempting to remain calm as I cut a small piece of the golden chicken breast. Sprays of warm liquid spread across my plate, and once the morsel is free of the whole, I shove it in my mouth.
I’d always wondered if there was a difference in the taste of fresh herbs compared to those that come dried and are sold in stores.
The first bite confirms my wonderings. I’ve never tasted something so decadent, and I moan around the bite, enjoying it too much to even be embarrassed.
The dam of my restraint burst open as my hands scramble to fill my mouth with the food.
The fluffy, purple starch tastes an awful lot like potatoes but something completely different, almost with a hint of vanilla and lavender.
The warm rolls melt once they meet my taste buds, buttery and sweet.
As my stomach fills, my awareness returns, the noises spilling from me between bites, deafening in the quiet place.
Rourke’s mouth hangs open, his chest heaving.
Lord Pan smiles and wipes the corner of his mouth with a green napkin.
“I see you enjoyed that. Our chefs hold the highest level of expertise in all of Neverhaven. Expect to eat like that every night.” He cuts a small piece of his chicken and brings it to his lips, still smiling at me.
Now that I’m not starving anymore, it’s less easy to convince me that living as a prisoner in Hollowbrook isn’t so bad.
But, I would never eat like this on Earth.
I’d never dress like this, smell like this, be surrounded by so much wealth and prosperity.
Perhaps my cage could be comfortable. Comfortable enough to delay my escape.
Rourke’s murderous gaze reminds me of the truth—of the Darling strapped around my neck. I can’t let myself get too relaxed, no matter how many buttered rolls they feed me.
The door to the dining hall swings open, and in walks a wild autumn-haired man, tall, all arms and legs, eyes glazed, and the corner of his white shirt untucked from his trousers.
“Peter, nice of you to join us!” Lord Pan calls, barely able to hide the annoyance in his tone. “I wasn’t sure if you’d grace us with your presence, so we started without you.”
Peter scoffs, taking a floor-scratching seat at the far end of the table.
He lounges, running his hand through his hair and crossing his legs over the armrest. “Why Father, I may be foolish but I’m no idiot.
I’m not privy to the option of refusing your orders.
” He snaps his fingers, and servants rush from the darkened corners of the room, collecting the table setting next to me and moving it to Peter’s claimed spot.
Peter is Lord Pan’s son. This makes sense.
The two are almost identical, if not for their subtle difference in their hair color, Peter’s incredible height, and the stark differences in their upkeep.
My curiosity gets the best of me, and I look between the two sons, trying to catch any sort of resemblance, but they are as different as golden hour and a starless night.
Peter catches my gaze as a rod-thin woman fills his glass with wine.
“Who’s this?” he asks, snapping at me. The servant bumps him slightly as she raises the bottle to pour.
He elbows her, causing her to stagger backward.
He doesn’t even waste the time to shoot her a nasty stare before he takes a long drink, not breaking his eye contact.
Lord Pan sighs. “This is Belle, the last living pixie.”
Even from a distance, I catch Peter’s pupils dilating, but the interest disappears quickly as another shaky-handed servant places a full plate in front of him, and he dives into his meal, more composed than Rourke’s eating habits, but less so than mine.
“She’s not without a Darling, so I suppose she’s here on your demand as well,” he says, his mouth full of food.
Lord Pan grins, teeth sharper than I remember. “It seems you haven’t lost all sense of awareness yet.”
Peter clucks. “Ah, but Father, the night is still young.” He smiles humorlessly before downing the rest of his drink.
Lord Pan sighs. “Let me get this over with while you’re still capable of keeping your eyelids open. Belle is here for a reason.”
I remember myself. For the last several minutes, I’ve been snapping my head back and forth, trying to put the pieces together of what the dynamic could be for this mismatched family, and how I could play a role. It seems my answers will come without having to put the pieces together myself.
Lord Pan continues, “I’m not getting any younger, and there will come a time when I must declare the next heir of Neverhaven.”
Rourke still hasn’t taken his eyes off of me, and Peter tunnels the rest of the food into his mouth as their father drones on.
I remain silent, not looking anyone in the eyes, not wanting to seem too interested, not wanting to seem anything.
Maybe if I blend into the walls like the servants, he’ll reveal more than he intends.
“As you both know, Neverhaven is dying. Crops are dwindling, people are going hungry, rioting. Alchemists are in short supply, dying out with the trade. We need magic born to return our prosperity.”
Peter scoffs. “Perhaps draining pixie blood for the Darlings wasn’t such a grand idea, aye?”
The collar around my neck burns. Is that what powers this thing? Blood from my people? More likely my own blood.
Lord Pan’s voice takes on a sharper edge. “The problems arose far before the blood harvest. Pixies weren’t procreating with the nobles. Magic must rest in the hands of the leaders, or the land suffers.”
Peter sighs, leaning back and resting his feet on the table in front of him. “So that’s what this is? You want me to fuck her?”