The Barren Luna

16 - Regina

I woke up earlier than usual and for once, my bed did not feel like a furnace. With an excitement I refused to analyze or acknowledge, I chose my clothes for the day – blue jeans and a black long-sleeved Henley. These casual combos worked best with the haircut I was forced to wear for now. Breakfast had to be casual, right?

David was already in the dining hall when I came down. It seemed oddly empty without all the palace guests that had been here for the trial.

"Good morning, Regina!" he greeted me cheerfully and I found myself smiling back.

"Good morning, David."

"Let's go to my personal dining room, it makes no sense to sit in this huge hall if it's just the two of us, right?"

"Right," I nodded and followed him through the double glass doors to an elaborate dining room that held only one table which could seat ten. The spread the cook had prepared was impressive considering we were the only ones at the table, and my stomach urged me to fill up my plate quickly. I was starting to get my appetite back and I'd never welcomed it more in my life. Being able to gain weight was a privilege, something I'd never understood before now. Going forward, I hoped never to forget that lesson.

On the table, there were wonderful-smelling pillows of fried dough, bowls of clotted cream, mouth-watering thin slices of dried venison, juicy venison sausages, cubes of salted, bright yellow butter, fragrant, red strawberry jam with whole strawberries suspended in the glistening pectin and sugar mixture, and a mysterious spread that smelled of grilled red peppers, garlic, and aubergines. The only thing that I slightly disliked was the fresh fruit that had to have been flown in, considering it was January in Colorado. I'd always insisted on using seasonal produce in our pack's kitchen as well as in my own home. It ensured that the body was being fed in accordance with the seasons. It brought us, as shifters, closer to nature. Freezing, canning, and making preserves allowed us to enjoy our bountiful harvests year-round, there was no need to fly in fruit from warmer climates just because we could.

David must have noticed me frowning as I chewed on the dried venison, because he immediately asked:

"Is the food not to your liking?"

"Oh no, quite the opposite, I am very impressed with your cook. All of this is so delicious."

"But?" he asked smilingly, as if he was looking forward to me complaining about something.

"Well," I sighed. "I'm a proponent of seasonal and local eating – you harvest and consume what is available in your region, in the season you're in. When we harvest vegetables and fruits when they are at their peak, the ripeness and flavors are beyond compare. And we have both traditional and modern methods at our disposal to preserve such foods to be enjoyed year-round, so why pollute the environment and in a way, our bodies, by using a plane to bring us food from God-knows-where, just so we could enjoy a mango for breakfast in January?" I said and continued eating.

He observed me thoughtfully for a moment.

"I'd never thought about it that way. You make some excellent points."

I knew – I don't know how, but I did – that he was not just saying that to humor me. He genuinely thought about what I'd said, and he found merit in it. I'd missed the feeling of being seen, heard, acknowledged, and valued. It was dizzying, in a good way.

"Do you think about food a lot?"

I finished chewing the bite of sausage before responding.

"Oh my God, this is so good," my eyes almost rolled back and he seemed oddly pleased. "To answer your question – I used to. Not only was I in charge of the kitchen menu and ordering all the supplies for it, I was a hobby chef as well. I'd always said that in another life I would have been a real chef. I even checked out the castle kitchen one day with Laura and Kelly, I couldn't resist," I sheepishly admitted and his eyes lit up.