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“They’re not dead, right?”
“No, but he was hurt.”
“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
“Did you really want me to wake you up for that?”
She brushed back a strand of her black hair. One of her feather tattoos shifted to slide up from under the neckline of her dress and cover her jutting collarbone. “I never would have taken him for that sort. He’ll certainly be locked up for a long time. Do you know the details?”
“Yes.”
“You can sentence him yourself and deal with that. He doesn’t need to be coming back in here.”
“Very well.” He could feel her eyes boring into him while he pretended to be interested in the glass flower arrangement on the High Table.
“You know I don’t like you going to those places,” she added.
“We’re men,” he said, trying to keep his voice level.
“As long as you’re not satisfying those needs with sick practices, I don’t care who you go to bed with, but all of the places around here do cater to such…things.”
“That doesn’t mean a whore has to do anything kinky.”
Anything beyond the most basic, plainest of sex was probably sick to her. The glass flowers straightened up a little in the vase as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds to shine through the skylight over the High Table. They’d probably rather still be in the garden, and Rainier wished he could be upstairs with his new Kitten to make sure he was all right.
Thankfully, Mum said nothing else as Aunt Betty and Natalie bustled in. They could be late, and Mum wouldn't say a peep. Even though he’d already seen her earlier before he left, Aunt Betty came around to kiss him. Natalie, thin and elegant as ever in a sky blue dress of silk and velvet, settled in her chair across from Rainier as she said hi.
A servant poured wine while the ladies talked. Others brought the plates of dry salad, and left a bottle of oil in the center of the table along with herb bread. Mum ignored the bottle and the basket as she picked up her fork with her bony fingers.
Aunt Betty took the oil with her plump fingers and drizzled it on her plate before she passed it to her daughter. Rainier forced in a bite of the same, boring salad he’d been eating before every lunch and dinner in this room for the past years because Mum liked it. Or she said she did. When Natalie set the glass bottle down, the herbs soaking inside drifted around.
The salad would be much better if it wasn’t dry. He was tempted even though Mum would give him a look, and he could practically imagine her thoughts. The comments would come later. When they didn't have guests, oil and bread were never brought out.
He listened enough to make sure nobody asked him anything as he inserted each bite like it was his job. Natalie had practically drenched her salad, but she was perfect no matter what she ate. She ate two pieces of bread with more oil drizzled on top.
Rainier wasn’t that lucky. All of that oil would make him fatter.
When the main course came, the sauce for the chicken was served on the side in a bowl. Their two guests poured the creamy white mixture on the seasoned chicken, added it onto their mash and spinach, and Aunty even poured some on her beans.
Mum didn’t touch it, and Rainier didn’t either.
“Aunty Eliza, we might have to sack our cook and steal yours instead,” Natalie told the Queen.
Mum chuckled as she scooped up a few beans. “After twenty years, mine will never leave. Even if I sacked her, she’d still be there tomorrow morning.”
Aunt Betty let out a laugh that sounded slightly fake. “Ours isn’t bad, Natalie.”
Rainier cut miniscule bites of chicken and chewed each one slowly. Beans were eaten one at a time. If he ate too fast, Mum would later complain and tell him to show some control.
Some of the typical hollowness in his gut lessened. To slow himself down, he pushed around the food a bit between bites and cut it into smaller pieces.
He was pretty sure vegetables were safe, although he didn’t fully understand how foods made a person fat. Natalie could eat all damn day, and she’d never gain an ounce. Her collarbones poked out as much as Mum's, her wrists were even skinnier, and she could probably count her ribs.
Rainier could count his too, but he’d never be like her.
The trick to avoid awkwardly sitting there and doing nothing was to eat as slowly as possible, talk when appropriate, move around the food on his plate, and pause to take sips of his water or the heavily diluted wine. The pinfruit wine that Mum liked was disgusting in his opinion, so he mostly focused on the water. Aunt Betty downed her wine and had a second glass.
Rainier chewed a bite of chicken that had long since turned to paste in his mouth. Elira, how he wished he could taste the sauce. It was probably delicious. Mum was nearly done, and he kept chewing as he imagined Felix upstairs, lost and awkward in this new place. Mum would be so annoyed when she found out.
