As I step forward and Eneko is announced to the party, the warmth washes over me, a welcome respite from the frosty air outside. As I take a deep breath and fall back into my place at his side, most of the prying eyes find new targets.
We approach the festivities. The human playing a harp in the corner accompanies the lines of people seeking different kinds of food. Roast boars and bulls are laid across the tables while the wine flows freely into glasses. Long tables are situated at theback of the room for the foremen, while lords are afforded more dignified tables near the top of the enormous room.
High King Rholker and his new queen, Marej, sit side by side as humans serve them delicacies from silver platters. A few men and women sit on the sides of the elaborate thrones encrusted with gems. A host of women sit at the king’s feet, all dressed to match his golden suit.
He ignores their touches and laughter, already looking irritated and bored.
We walk up the carpet reserved for paying respects to the royalty. I think of the days I spent being ordered to wash and dress Estela. Eneko had been upset at the request, but who says no to their king?
As we approach, his gaze snaps onto me and narrows. My skin bursts into flames, but I keep my head down and bow low enough to touch my nose to the ground.
"Foreman Eneko, welcome. Thank you for coming with such a hasty invitation," King Rholker's voice rumbles through the distance between us.
"It is I who should be thanking you, my king. Thank you for inviting my family to this splendid feast," Eneko responds.
My gaze remains locked on the pristine fibers of the decorative rug beneath me. My thighs and ribs burn as I stay in the position, but I resist the urge to move.
At last, High King Rholker speaks. "I'm glad to see your woman hasn't escaped like so many other humans fleeing our lands."
The heat flashing across my skin intensifies as the seams of my dress suddenly feel too tight. I try to ignore the sensation as I slowly rise with the others.
When I look up, the king smiles at Eneko. "Go, enjoy! Later this evening, I may require a minute or two of your time, along with the other foremen."
Eneko nods deeply, as if nothing would make him happier.
We are dismissed, and Eneko and Hibsej walk away from the throne. I hang back for a half-second to look at the new king. His wife notices and pins me with an icy glare.
I bend into my quickest curtsy and hurry after my master.
Soon, each of us is given a plate. The giants fill them with food, but I hardly eat. Too much food will make the rest of the evening that much worse.
After settling on a roll and a bunch of grapes, I sit. Slaves bring out even more bottles of wine. It's not my intention to overindulge, but I can't seem to help myself.
My chest ties itself into another knot each time I picture Eneko’s bed and his naked skin. I chew on my lip. None of this should worry me. I just need to focus, get my head into the right place with a little more wine and let myself relax.
That's all.
Throughout the feast, I watch the others enjoy the music and dancing. My hand hardly leaves the goblet. Usually, a bit of alcohol helps to dull my senses, but tonight, it enhances every detail.
The candlelit chandeliers glittering above are too bright, as are the torches on the wall and the fires held by the statued consorts of Khuohr—god of war. The music makes my ears ring, and a sense of irritation nestles itself firmly in the center of my soul. I fix the fake smile I've pasted across my mouth and take deep breath after deep breath.
Different variations of‘More wine!’and‘Faster!’prick at my ears from the dancers.
Too loud. Too bright.
I snap out of my dread when Hibsej returns from the dance floor, cheeks flushed, and a smile spread across her face. Her chestnut hair looks windswept from the lively music, but it suits her, as does her gown and makeup. Her eyes land onme, that twinkle fades. It snuffs out completely and turns into all-consuming darkness when Eneko lets go of her hand, steps away, and nods.
Even I’m annoyed at his brashness.
That tree fucker.
Hibsej’s fingers clutch at her skirts, and her shoulders rise a fraction of an inch. "What? You want me to go now?"
He casts her a look that warns his patience wears thin. "The king requires an audience with me. The rest of the night is my own."
Hibsej opens her mouth and then snaps it closed. "Very well, husband."
He gives her a peck on her cheek, which only hardens her glare, and walks over to the boys, who are curled up on a bench after hours of chasing each other around and playing battle with the other giant boys. They continue to sleep as she picks them up.