Page 28 of Prince of the Sun

I haven’t had enough today. In fact, if I’m brutally honest with myself, I didn’t eat enough yesterday either. Recovery is a lifelong process, and for the most part, I have no problem keeping a normal diet. Sometimes, though, the urge to restrict slowly grows louder within me.

It’s not that I’m trying to become thinner; restriction stopped being about that for me a long time ago. Around the same time that I realized it never reallywasabout that. It was about everything else: the numbness; the inability to think of anything but food, which keeps your mind offother, more painful things; the sense of control over thisonesmall thing, when everything else in your life is coming apart. The false sense of security that that brings.

My mom’s words from our phone call come back to me.

Old coping mechanisms can flare up in times of stress and uncertainty.

Lately, my life has been filled with both.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” says Daerios.

I clench a fist at my side. “What do you care about my diet, anyway?”

He shrugs. “I can’t have my human date being the drunkest one here. Not a good look.”

“I thought that was your wholething.Being the drunkest one at the party.”

His lips tighten. “Just because it’s my thing doesn’t mean it needs to be yours.”

“It won’t,” I shoot back.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

We fall silent, each glaring at the other. Conversation lifts and falls around us, the elves’ voices held at excruciatingly appropriate levels. They’re so light, so musical, they seem to blend in with the tinkering of the instruments in the other room. It’s infuriating.

Cara materializes at my side, two cups of bright liquid glimmering in either hand. She hands one to me. “Are we having fun yet?”

“Is that even a question?” Berendir appears beside her with two dark wells of amber ale. “These two look like they’re seconds away from ripping each other’s faces off. Doesn’t get more fun than that.”

Cara cranes her neck. “When does the dancing start?”

“Once this crowd drinks enough to get the sticks out of their asses. Speaking of which.” Berendir shoves a glass of ale into Daerios’s hand. “This guy needs to be a hundred percent drunker than he is right now.”

Daerios rolls his eyes, but takes a massive swig of ale anyway. I hold back a smile. This is exactly what I want. The more the elves drink, the easier it will be for me to pump them for information.

Berendir plucks a cherry from his cloak pocket and pops it into his mouth. “You know what I think this night calls for?”

“Oh, dear God,” says Cara.

He leans close, grinning devilishly. “The Daerios and Berendir Special.”

I sigh. “Do we even want to know what that is?”

“Probably not,” says Berendir.

“Well.” Cara swirls her plastic cup. “If it involves gettingdrunk enough to make this place less creepy, count me in.”

“Ha!” I say, victorious, and poke Daerios right in the front pocket. “I told you it’s creepy!”

For a moment, Daerios just stares at the place where I touched him. When he raises his eyes to mine, I can’t tell if he’s holding back a smile or a frown.

“You two are clearly uncultured.” Berendir reaches into his pocket again, this time pulling out a candied pecan.

Cara raises her eyebrows. “Did you store the entire kitchen in that thing?”