Queen of Shattered Dreams

13 - Jealousy

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Juice squirts from King Feodor's hen as he bites directly into the bird. Not for the first time, I wonder why so much of my education was spent on table manners when clearly a position as high as the king had no such training. Or perhaps he did at some point but with no one to continue his tutoring he's fallen into bad habits.

Prince Dashel on the other hand delicately slices his hen like a man with good breeding. He sits closest to me, with Dendrite across from him and his adviser to the right, between Dashel and the king. Dendrite takes a bite out of a strawberry, dropping almost half of it onto her plate. This is a habit she hasn't outgrown in the time I've known her. She only likes the red part at the bottom, says the top is too tart. Therefore, she wastes more than she eats.

"Denny dear, do try not to waste." The corner of my mouth slides upward. She hates it when I call her Denny and when I mother her.

In response, she grabs another strawberry, bites the bottom half and flings the top to her plate. It tumbles to the edge, almost rolling on to the table. She narrows her eyes. "Mother dear, do try to mind your own business."

Dashel sets his fork down. "You two have a relationship orphans would be jealous of."

I turn to him, brow furrowed. "Why orphans?"

Dashel grins. "No one else would be desperate enough to be jealous of you two."

Laughter burst from me but I quickly suppress it when King Feodor catches my eye with a stern expression.

Dendrite offers her usual scowl. Does she ever find anything funny?

She reaches a hand to her neck and scratches like a flea ridden dog. Hopefully this is just the beginning.

I pick up my own knife and carve into the meat on my plate. I close my eyes as the warm, tender hen touches my tongue. In the entire time I've been here, nothing has tasted so good. It helps that Dendrite is about to be very uncomfortable until either Hassiba gives her some calamine or the wovasley dust wears off.

I caution a glance Feodor's way as he sips his wine. His face screws up and he licks his lips. "Servant," he calls out, "get me a new glass of wine, this one's off."

"Really?" Dashel's adviser tastes his again. "Mine tastes fine."

Dashel sips his as well. "Same." His eyes slide to me so I oblige and taste mine too. I give an innocent shake of my head. "Nothing taste wrong here either, my dear."

"Ugh." Dendrite slaps her neck, then digs against the fabric of her dress at her elbow.

"Denny, are you quite alright?" I ask.

"I'm fine," she snaps.

"Feodor." Dashel's adviser's voice is low, though we can all hear him. "What happens to Princess Dendrite and Prince Dashel if you and Queen Mila produce a male heir?"

I nearly choke on my food. Is this normal for royalty to discuss so openly during marriage negotiations? My own betrothal seems quite simple by comparison. Of course, the kingdom's future and my title were secure before our marriage. Still, it seems rather crass to discuss over dinner. 

Dendrite takes a break from her scratching to snort. "Unlikely that will ever happen."

My face burns and I can see clearly from this side of the table that the king's face is as well. "The law states that if I have a male heir, Denny will inherit a duchess title, and therefore Dashel will be a duke."

Coldness touches the back of my neck as the sensation I'm being watched creeps over me. Feodor won't glance this way and Dendrite is too busy scratching. I shift my gaze to Dashel, who watches me unabashedly. I can't tell if he feels sorry for me or is determining how to ensure his future title will be king.