A Court of Witches and Curses

CHAPTER THREE

EDEN'S POV

I keep my posture perfect at the breakfast table. It's an instinctive thing, even though things went fine yesterday I feel like I'm staying at some dignitary's house. That's probably a good way to remain safe here--to pretend that this is some kind of family trip to some distance lord or duke's home. Feyra didn't find me yesterday, and I've been stealing glances at her whenever I can--what is she hiding?

Everyone's being too silent. There's something hanging in the air, something untrustworthy; there's some great tension that they haven't let me in on. Feyra stretches an arm, reaching to serve herself a pastry. I pretend t want the same thing, arm moving outwards, planning to brush my hand against her's.

"Don't." I cannot hate that she reads me so easily more.

Still, though, I feign ignorance. "I'm just grabbing a pastry."

"No, you're trying to touch my hand to see if you can see anything."

I wrinkle my nose at her. "Please, if that's what I wanted I would've been much less obvious." Feyra turns her head, raising an eyebrow at me. "You're no fun."

"I wouldn't mind someone as pretty as you reading my mind," Cassian throws a look in Rhys's direction, "For a change." He thinks I'm pretty? No, focus, he's probably kidding--but then he extends one hand forward.

Feyra kicks me from under the table, a silent warning to behave. "I wouldn't, Cassian, it's extremely unnerving to have Eden tell you what's going to happen to you just to have it come true the next day." She pauses, propping her head on her elbow. "Or to have her tell you some dark secret about yourself that you regret."

I stare down at my plate sheepishly, still uncomfortable about my sixth sense being discussed so openly. The only people that knew about my sixth sense before I came here were Feyra and my entire family. The same family that loathes me for it--they say it makes me being a bastard that much more offensive. "It's really fun at parties."

"Eden," never did I think I'd be so grateful to Mor, "How do you know Feyra?"

I shift in my seat slightly, back straight as an arrow. "We met when we were children and her father still had his original fortune. They worked together, we'd travel to them annually from the South Isle."

Mor nods once, politely. "What does your father do?"

Oh...and the question I really hoped I could avoid. It's not like I can help my royal heritage, but there's very little more awkward than just casually mentioning that your father's the ruler of a small country and that you're technically a princess. It's especially awkward when you're in the company of a High Fae and his inner circle. I could...lie. But I think they'd know and that would make things worse.

I smile politely. "Her father's the King of The South Isle." Feyra answers for me casually, taking a bite into her pastry casually. "My father was his favorite merchant--The South Isle is known for its ports."

"You're of noble blood?" Rhys's sudden interest in me is strange--my existence seems to exhaust him ever since he realized that he can't read my mind. "You'll be a mortal queen one day?"

Ah...if things were that simple. I shake my head once, suppressing an awkward laugh. Feyra laughs a little more freely than me, which is rude, but I get it."Oh, most definitely not," I scratch the back of my arm, "My mother was a traveling entertainer and my father a powerful and over friendly king, and The South Isle doesn't take kindly to noble bastards. And Cathia would sooner hang me than see me take the throne from any of her pack of children--and when I say pack I mean it literally, I have nine half siblings." The thought of having nine children makes me scoff. "Honestly, does she have nothing better to do than sire child after child?"