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“Thank you, Your Grace,” Sophia said, walking over and standing beside me, a sweet flowery scent coming off her.
We all waited for Elspeth to sit before sitting ourselves. Before I even realized she did not have one, a plate was brought out and then placed in front of her.
“Thank you, Parsworth,” she said to the butler.
He smiled slightly and nodded before he backed into the corner.
The once lively and joyful atmosphere around the table vanished, and everyone ate quietly. Every once in a while, each of them glanced at Sofia and then went back to eating their soup. Because of that lack of conversation, we finished quickly, the butlers taking it and bringing out the next course.
Duck breast over what smelled like cranberries with potatoes and vegetables. Again, my mouth watered. But I glanced over the table to find them quietly staring down, all of them lost in their thoughts. The air was thick with grief, and I could not stand it. I looked to see anything I could comment on before speaking.
“Are we expecting anyone else?” I asked.
But instead of easing a conversation, they all froze, stiffening. Gale met my eyes, and he looked, well, I did not know that look. The queen ate as if I hadn’t spoken.
“The king always has a seat at the table, whether he is here or not,” Sophia answered coldly while cutting into her duck, not sparing me a glance, either. “The other seat is for Arthur. It is customary to keep a seat for a recently departed member of the royal family during the period of mourning.”
Silence again.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said gently, trying not to sound as dumb as I did for asking the question. I should have stopped talking, but something wouldn’t let me. Maybe it was the look on Gale’s face. Perhaps it was how much I hated awkward situations. I glanced back to Gale, seeing he had stopped eating and was looking at the empty chair in front of him. And I knew it was mostly because of that I had to speak.
“It is a good tradition,” I said, sitting up a bit. “I wished we had done that when my father died suddenly. It was probably healthier than me taking a bat to all of his things.”
“You did what?” Eliza gasped.
I glanced up at her. “I went to my father’s house. It was a few days after he passed. I do not know. Maybe I was hoping it wasn’t real, and he’d be there like always, working in his library. But he wasn’t. He worked so much I barely got to see him. So, when all of his things and all of the work he had given his time to were just there, as he had left them, I was so upset. I grabbed one of his baseball bats and smashed his 3D models, then his computers, then anything in sight. I swung so hard that I fell, and of course, since I was smashing everything, there was broken glass and things on the floor. That’s how I got this scar.”
I lifted my hand to show the faded line. Eliza leaned in to see, and her mouth turned up. She opened her mouth to speak, but Sophia cut in before her.
“And did you feel better after that tantrum?” she asked, and I looked to see her staring at me. It was creepy how dead-eyed she looked.
However, I ignored it and spoke to her like I didn’t notice. “A little but nowhere close to enough. Afterward, while I was sitting in his wrecked living room with a bottle and a bloody hand, I felt a bit ashamed. I had destroyed his work because I was jealous of it and mad at him. But soon, I remembered how happy he was to do it, so it felt like I was hurting him. I tried to clean up. That failed—my hand wasn’t letting me do it.” I laughed, remembering. “I had people pack everything, and I spent my time trying to rebuild his models.”
“It took me a year to fix most of the memories I broke of you. For the ones I lost forever, I am sorry. It’s my fault, but still...” Eliza repeated my lyrics.
“I blame you because I love you, and you’ll forgive me because you loved me too.” I finished, nodding at her.
She grinned then laughed. “That song was about your dad?”
“Yes. What did you think it was about?” It was always fun hearing what fans sometimes thought.
“I thought it was about...” she trailed off.
“You thought it was about what?” I leaned forward, more interested.
She shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t know, some man, boyfriend you loved and lost.”
“It couldn’t be another man,” Gale finally spoke again, his eyes narrowing on me.
“Why not? I liked other people before you.”
“Really, who? Chef Tremaine?” he asked with a wicked grin. “How cute.”
My mouth dropped open, and I wanted to throw something at him. Instead, I glared, and all I could say was, “New topic.”
“Wait, no, who is Chef Tremaine?” Eliza asked, looking between us. “I want to know.”
“Well, he is—”
