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No one was surprised to see me shambling around and throwing back drinks all night.
After four hours of much-needed sleep, though, I require food.
Three of those almond things go straight down my gullet before I realize everyone around the table is staring at me.
“What?” I ask through a mouthful of buttery crumbles.
My sister, Flora, still standing, motions subtly with a jerk of her head, her halo of blonde ringlets bouncing. No one is eating. No one is sitting. Flora and Sigurd wait politely behind their seats because the king and queen are entertaining company. We do this when we have visitors rather than charge the table and stuff our faces.
My eyes slide in the direction Flora’s indicating. A visitor with straight posture and bright eyes, she could be no one else.
I had registered a light yellow blur when I’d first shambled into the room, but I’d assumed it was one of my mother’s many advisors.
Kala St. Rain. She of the impeccable manners. I pause only for a second before resuming stuffing my face as I watch her perfect fingers lift a porcelain tea cup to her lips, all the while politely nodding to the queen.
“You just returned from a trip to Malaysia, if I’m not mistaken,” Father asks.
“Yes. I was on assignment with the United Nations Council on Human Rights.”
“Did you hear that, Hilda?”
“Of course, I heard her, Otto; I’m standing right here.”
Kala is so good at small talk; she must have taken a class.
Meanwhile, I can’t help but wonder why we’re not discussing the actual event of the day: my eldest brother, Torben, showing up this morning after a week of going missing. He’s suddenly back with an American babe on his arm.
They’ve yet to appear for breakfast, and I scrub my brain of any thoughts on why that might be.
I don’t know why Kala is here. Nor do I understand why no one is discussing the American, planning the presumed wedding, or arranging photo shoots—all of the nonsense that hopefully will not involve me.
Kala’s long, thick brown hair sweeps around the side of her graceful neck, cascading down her chest. I catch myself staring before I remember how bored I am.
As conversation drones on, I reach for a hard-boiled egg and roll it on the table.
A cluck of disapproval from my mother interrupts my egg progress.
“What?”
“That’s not how we open our eggs in polite company.”
“Well, I’m not polite, Mother. And since I’m forbidden to sit…”
I trail off because no one is glaring at me any longer.
Torben and the American have arrived for breakfast, finally.
And the attention is off me. Huzzah.
I slump in my chair and pull apart the egg ravenously, not caring that I’m leaving bits of shell all over the pristine table.
The skin on my neck prickles, then. I side-eye the yellow blur. Kala’s contoured cheeks flush with heat, but her always-confident expression falters. Quickly, she finds something more interesting to stare at across the room.
Am I mistaken, or did I just catch Kala watching me?
4
Kala
