The Princess's Servant

101. The Lunch Table

In the ballroom was a table long enough to seat two dozen guests and wide enough to do so comfortably. This table was situated in only one half of the grand room. In the other half, two dozen of Holden's closest relatives milled about the empty space while servants whisked around with shots of red wine and bite-sized appetizers. A few uncles were in attendance, a few cousins and their wives. Holden could put a name to some of their faces, but most of them he merely recognized. A few, (mostly second wives or distant cousins, Holden guessed) he didn't know at all.

Holden turned to Sybil to ask if she was ready to make their official entrance, but he lost his words as soon as she noticed she was no longer beside him. And then, noticing the top of her head, he realized she was beside him -- she was just no longer standing. Sybil was kneeling.

"What the hell are you doing?!" It was a yell of a whisper, and a barely constrained one at that. "Get up!"

To his surprise, Sybil did as she was told. She rose easily, like a crane rising from the lake. "I only wished to humble myself before my husband," she told him, and a shiver went down his spine. Her voice reminded Holden a little too much of how dead girls spoke in plays they'd watched. Ghostly. Melodic. Weak.

Holden felt an uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. No, he told himself. He wouldn't let her get the upper hand like this. He refused to go through an entire lunch with her toying with him, especially with his family here. Holden caught sight of a servant and called him over. "Gregory!"

Gregory turned his attention to the prince. "Your highness?"

"Summon Queen Arabelle and King Duncan. Tell them they're invited to our lunch."

Holden saw Sybil flinch a little in the edges of his vision.

"Of course, your highness." The servant bowed, and hurried off.

Sybil watched Gregory leave, trying to think of a way to call him back. He left through the double doors before she could. Sybil twisted her lips and turned her gaze to Holden. "I thought this a royal Wardian family members lunch. For royal Wardian family members."

"Oh yeah?" Holden asked. "Then why are you here?"

Sybil balked for a moment. "...I'm your wife, oh husband dear."

"Well. If you are a royal Wardian family member, then your mother and father must be royal Wardian family members, too, must they not?"

"That's not—!"

The edges of Holden's lips curled up in a smile.

Checkmate. "I— I mean." Damn it. She'd shown too much of her hand too early. She'd forgotten that in the halls of his own home, Holden was no simple plaything, but a player as well. "It is how my husband says," she said. And then, as the other guests were summoned to sit down, Sybil muttered "Mind your cup" as they were hidden behind a curtain for their entrance.

It was a bluff. It was almost certainly a bluff, Holden thought. ... The prince made a mental note to keep his cup far from his dear wife's reach.

At the last minute, Queen Arabelle and King Duncan entered the room. Chairs were added by servants next to where Sybil and Holden were meant to sit. Good, Holden thought. Sybil wouldn't get up to half her usual antics with her parents nearby.

An announcer called "Prince Holden of Ward and Princess Sybil of Lailoy!" And the two stepped out to cross the ballroom floor. Sybil, predictably, trailed behind him.

When Holden took his seat, he noticed a strange lag in Sybil's arrival. He saw Queen Arabelle's eyes go wide. He looked behind him.

In the center of the ballroom, for all the table to see, Sybil gave a deep and drawn-out curtsy. There were whispers at the table. It took all Holden had not to audibly groan.