Drakken cut a look at me. I studied my plate and pretended not to follow.
“Keep telling yourself that, wolf,” Drakken said. “It’s cheaper than therapy.”
Nikolai’s gaze moved between them, not quite catching the thread. Aelindor exhaled slowly. The bickering had to wear on him too, even after centuries of practiced patience, honed long before any of them were born.
None of them had touched the food. They were waiting for me. Four heirs, the men who held a kingdom together, and a mine rat who’d clawed her way out of a slave shaft, and they sat there and waited. It undid me a little, every time.
Comfort food crowded the table: brisket soft enough to fall apart under a fork, roast chicken with the skin crisped dark, baked potatoes split and steaming, mixed vegetables, a deep tureen of French onion soup. And chocolate. My favorite, a luxury for the entire continent. Missy would have lost her mind over a single bite. The thought opened a small crack in my chest.
From what I knew of them, the heirs never went in for feasts or delicacies, except the chocolate, and that was for me. Mostly they ate what the officers and soldiers ate, though it tasted better here. Aelindor kept a private chef. I figured the Fae prince wasa picky eater. The other three had been born into wartime. He hadn’t. He’d known real luxury before the Q-bomb unmade his world, and immortals didn’t adapt easily. He held on to small pieces of that old life and indulged himself a little more than the rest.
“Dig in, Max,” Nikolai said. “Don’t wait for us.”
Caspian piled food onto three plates for me, clearing half the table doing it. The heirs were all big men. They needed as much as I did, if not more.
Aelindor raised an eyebrow, amused. Nikolai competed by pouring my drinks. Drakken rolled his eyes.
“What, dragon?” Caspian challenged.
“Isn’t that overkill?” Drakken said. “If the cadet eats all of that, she’ll bring it straight back up. If that’s the goal, well done.”
“Funny,” Caspian drawled, “I don’t remember asking for a nutrition lecture from the guy who eats raw meat for breakfast.”
Drakken ignored Caspian and answered my glare with a smirk.
He knew throwing me in the dungeon or making me run barefoot around the track wasn’t on the table anymore, so he’d settled for needling me instead. A jab here, a poke there.
I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction. I smoothed the scowl off my face, smiled at the others, and tried the soup.
Shit, it was good. The onion cooked down almost to sugar.
For one stupid second, my eyes stung.
Food had never been a pleasure in my life. It was fuel you fought for and swallowed fast before someone took it from you. This was something new, and my body didn’t know what to do with it.
The heirs watched me eat, satisfaction on their faces and something darker, hungrier, underneath it.
The chocolate sat on a small white plate near the candles, a single dark square. I couldn’t make myself stop looking.
“Do you want the chocolate now?” Nikolai asked, catching the direction of my eyes.
I nodded, a little shy, and smiled at him.
Nikolai slid the plate down the table to me. “All yours, beautiful.”
“I can cut it into five pieces,” I said, reaching for a knife.
“Just take it.” Drakken’s voice cut across the table, impatient. “I don’t even like chocolate.”
Fine. The asshole was also an idiot. Who didn’t like chocolate?
I picked it up. Smooth and cool against my fingers, dark enough to be almost black. I set it on my tongue.
It melted before I could even bite down, bitter and sweet at once, richer than anything I’d ever tasted, and for a moment the whole table disappeared.
Don’t moan. Don’t moan.
A moan escaped from the back of my throat anyway. Low, helpless. Halfway to something I had no business feeling at a dinner table.
