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The table can assume I meant at dinnertime, but Einar knows perfectly well that I’m referring to his noted avoidance of me these past weeks.
His brow arches ever so slightly, but he doesn’t respond, only motions for the servants to bring the first course.
It’s another evening of eating our meal while the scant few guests at the tables wait. It’s just as upsetting as it was the first time. But while I was concerned about offending Sigrid, I have no such compunctions about the man sitting next to me.
“Why do you insist on dinner when they can’t eat?” I ask him when the conversation swells enough to cover the question.
His jaw clenches, like I knew it would. No matter, I’m not here for him.
“I don’t insist,” he growls.
“Then why --”
“Because dinner is about more than food,” he says shortly.
Leif clears his throat, and I realize our voices carried more than I intended.
“If I may,” his deep voice interjects, and again, I notice the way he seems to linger at the end of each syllable before moving on to the next. “It may seem strange with so many people, but it is not unlike any other family dinner.”
I blink, trying and failing to imagine such a thing in Madame’s household. Had my birth family eaten together? Those memories are locked away so tightly, I can’t seem to dredge one up.
I hide my horrified expression a moment too late. But instead of the way Einar is close to crumpling his fork in his irritation, Leif asks patiently, “What were they like, in your home?”
The wordhomeis nearly as foreign as the concept of a family dinner, and the lie Madame told is more than enough to keep up with, so I settle on the truth.
“We didn’t have family dinners.” I force a smile I don’t feel, like the answer doesn’t matter.
The table around us is still engaging in low conversational tones; Leif and Einar both go still. Then, Leif nods, almost more to himself than to me.
“Then it’s a custom we will be happy to teach you,” he says, and the kindness in his voice unravels something coiled tightly within myself.
“And I would be glad to learn.” It’s impossible to be anything but kind in return.
Besides, it may be the truest thing I’ve said all evening. Iwouldbe glad to learn in a life I’ll never have with a man who actually loved me. As it is, I focus on enjoying small things about this moment, like how excited Khijhana is when I sneak her bits of roasted fish.
The more peaceful I feel, the more relaxed the atmosphere grows around us. The woman who spoke earlier asks if she can feed the giant cat as well, and I oblige. Nearly everyone at the table laughs when Khijhana, clearly having understood the meaning, practically sprints the couple of seats to the mild woman.
It isn’t long, though, before the arduous voice of Lord Odger slithers across the table.
“Consort Zaina.” He certainly remembers my title today. “How lovely to see you enjoying your meal with such...pleasure.”
I fight not to gag on the last bite of vegetables, trying to speak up before Einar can. He’s tense beside me, the energy radiating off of him practically feral.
For all that he doesn’t seem to want me, he certainly does give off the impression of jealousy.
“Yes, Lord Odger,” I respond. “My compliments to the chef.”
“Wait until you try the glazed snowbird legs at the festival tomorrow.” He says the words just a hair too innocently, like he already knows I’m not aware of any festival.
And I have a choice. Play into his hands and further prove to the room that I am ill-matched for their precious king...or cover for him.
I swallow my pride and do the latter.
“Einar -- His Majesty,” I feign the intimate slip, and in the corner of my eye, Einar’s gaze narrows slightly, “was just telling me about it. I’m so looking forward to finally seeing more of my new home and sampling… Oh, what was it you were telling me I simply had to try, dear?”
A hush falls over the room, and the king's eyes widen. He manages to wipe the baffled look off of his face in time to respond.
“The Sterling Eiswein. It’s the jewel of the festival, made from our --”
