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I can’t blame the cooks. They try their best with what they’ve been given.
My father, Baron Lucar Eravus Solisar the Third, sits at the head of the table. My stepmother, Lady Dorava Solisar, is at the other end, quietly sipping wine from a long-stemmed glass.
I’m in the middle, uncomfortable in my stiff formal gown.
My brothers are absent; they’re probably eating lunch down in the mess-hall with the knights.
I envy them. Compared to me, they have so much freedom.
Dorava wears a fur-trimmed gown of pale, greyish-blue, the hue matching her eyes. Her gaze is trained upon my father; eyes taut at the edges, mouth pressed into a thin line, expectantly waiting for him to speak.
Not once does she acknowledge me.
She’s more avoidant than usual.
Something’sdefinitelyafoot.
I taste a spoonful of my lukewarm stew, which has the consistency of warm glue.
At least it’s somewhat tasty. The poor cooks must be sorcerers to be able to conjure this kind of food with the few ingredients they have.
Father lays down his fork with an impatientclink.“How are your deportment lessons progressing, Finley?”
“Fine,” I say carefully, not liking where this is going. The truth is, the lessons are terribly boring. I find them ridiculous and unnecessary. But apparently, I must learn to conduct myself like aladyso I can attract the attention of a worthy suitor. Someone higher in rank than my father, with all the benefits that entails. That’s what he’s hoping for. It doesn’t matter how old or decrepit my prospective husband might be. “This afternoon, I will be revising the correct etiquette for when one is in the company of the Imperial Family.”
“Lady Majurie gives me a somewhat different impression,” father says drily, idly running one finger over the edge of his mustache—an annoying habit of his. “That you lack perseverance and are easily distracted by trivial things. As isalwaysthe case.” He lets out a thin sigh, as if I’m somehow the cause of all his woes. “I should have paid more attention to those frivolous activities of yours when you were a child.” He smiles thinly; ominously. “But it matters not, because I have managed to secure an arrangement that will change everything.”
He looks terribly pleased with himself.
I don’tlikethat.
Not at all.
I look him in the eye. “Father, what are you talking about?”
This time, even my directness isn’t enough to spoil his good mood.
“You are betrothed, Finley.”
“E-excuse me?” I force myself to slow down; to take another spoonful of stew and not give my father the satisfaction of seeing my distress.
His expression is infuriatingly smug. “When I was in the capital, I managed to gain an audience with the Emperor. Ididmention to him that I have a daughter, comely in looks, healthy of body and mind, and fortunately, still of child-bearing years. A maiden, at that. I mentioned itspecificallybecause Emperor Duthriss is a consummate politician, and has been known to influence strategic matches between the children of Rahava’s most powerful families. Cunning old wolf. Perchance that he might know of a lord in need of heirs; one that has done him favors, whom he could reward with a suitable noble woman of good breeding and decent looks.”
I’m overcome with the sudden urge to pick up my glass of water and splash it in his face.
I don’t, of course.
I don’t want to be beaten to within an inch of my life. Inwardly, I can’t help but feel bitterly smug.
I’mnota bloody maiden, but father doesn’t know that.
My stepmother is silent. Of course. She’salwaysquiet when father speaks.
Father is looking more and more pleased with himself.
Dread pools in the pit of my stomach.
“He made a suggestion.” My father’s tone is insufferably smug. “No, it was more than a suggestion. It was a proposal. Of course, I deliberated upon it, and after giving it careful thought, I accepted on your behalf.”
