But then I have a better idea.
For some reason,the king insists on letting hordes of Scathian lords and ladies dine with us day in, and day out, throwing lavish dinners with at least ten courses—because whodoesn’t like having to unfasten the top button of your trousers so you can breathe?
The only upside tonight is that there are more people around as witnesses to keep my brother from pinning me to the wall with his sword. From the way the vein in Boris’s forehead bulges the moment I set foot in the spacious dining room, I have a feeling that would’ve been my fate if we didn’t have so many “esteemed guests.”
The whispers that seem to follow me everywhere no longer leave me sweaty and anxious as I cross the long, rectangular room to the last remaining empty seat next to my baby brother. Tuning out muttered remarks and ignoring wide-eyed stares is the only way to stay sane in this cage.
Don’t let the white marble and floor-to-ceiling windows fool you. This castle is as much a prison as the infamous pit. Albeit it smells a lot better.
When Kyff sees me, his mouth falls open, and he pokes Rhainn in the side. Rhainn looks up, his eyes widening and his wine glass stilling halfway to his mouth.
It isn’t until I catch sight of the man wearing a black medallion at his throat sitting next to the king that I realize my eldest brother may actually kill me.
Boris’s face turns the same shade of deep red as his waistcoat.
It’s not my fault he forgot to remind me that one of the ministers from Nimbiss would be joining us for dinner, is it? Oh well. Too late to worry about it now.
Although I wouldn’t have changed my shirt, I may have worn a pair of boots with fewer scuffs.
The moment my ass hits the seat, a white-clad servant rushes forward, filling my wine glass. I thank him before taking a deep sip. If this is to be my final meal, I may as well make the most of it.
“He is going to proper kill you,” Kyff whispers with a frown and a worried glance toward the end of the table.
“He’ll have to catch me first.”
And Boris, for all his threats, is dreadfully slow. Unfortunately, his guards are the fastest in the realm. Something I’ve come to realize on more than one drunken occasion.
The servants serve the first course of rich tomato and basil soup, followed by a salad of fresh greens. I skip the palate-cleansing sherbet, take two bites of the veg served with the mains to make my mother happy—heaven rest her soul—and then tuck into the braised beef.
Rhainn eats in silence, his dour mood like a black cloud looming over his head.
Kyff keeps glancing at me, his brow knitting every time his gaze lands on my hands.
I nudge his boot with mine. “Everything all right?”
He presses himself back into the chair, his shoulders slumping. Parsley clings to his frowning lips. “My left hand is so dreadfully weak compared to yours.”
I give him his serviette, then tap the corner of my own mouth until my brother cleans his. “That is because I’m left-handed.”
“That isn’t fair. I want to be left-handed.”
“I don’t know why. Being right-handed is far superior. I can’t do anything with my right hand. Look.” I pretend to pick up my fork with my right hand and drop it with a clatter. The bit of potato on the end pops right off, landing near the flickering candles.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Did I?”
Kyff’s eyes narrow as he studies my hand. Then his spine straightens, and he gives a resolute nod, his hand falling to thewooden sword still hanging from his hip. “Don’t worry, brother. If your life is ever in danger, I will protect you.”
“Thank heavens. My weak right hand and I are in your debt.”
“Better ready your sword now,” Rhainn mutters from behind his goblet.
A throat clears behind me. “Senan? A word,” the king clips.
My chair scrapes against the floor when I push back from the table. The rest of the dinner guests fall silent, their eyes darting toward me before returning to their plates of half-eaten dinner and goblets of expensive wine that flows like the River Solace.
So much waste.