“Fine. I’m in. But don’t patronize me; I’m not a child.”
They held one another’s gaze in an unspoken challenge, the heat of his molten amber eyes burning all the way to her core.
Pimley, forgotten, coughed rather intentionally from his side of the table.
The tension shattered, and Hazel looked at her lap as pink flushed her cheeks.
Slaide let out a breath, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “So. Let’s start over, shall we? Hazel, this is Master Pimley. He’s been the royal dance and etiquette instructor for longer than I’ve been alive. Usually, his time is spent educating our youth as they come of age and begin attending parties, so he is used to young, inexperienced students.
“Master Pimley, this is Hazel Callahan, hailing from Larksridge, a small village to the southwest of King’s Crossing. While she is currently a prisoner of the crown, she is also my ward, and I alone am responsible for her for the duration of our training. She does not bite nor fight, though she stands accused of using unauthorized magic and attacking a knight. That is something to be wary of, though I’ve yet to see her use it or even consider using it. Frankly, I’m not convinced she can. Regardless, it would be wise to keep your guard up. Otherwise,” he shrugged, “we’ll just have to see how fast she learns.”
Pimley—for the first time since she’d entered—smiled a broad, toothy smile at her.
Unsure of what the proper conduct would be, but certain she’d be corrected if she was in the wrong, Hazel stood. “It is both an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Master Pimley, and I look forward to your instruction.” She then performed her best attempt at a curtsy.
When she rose, Slaide was looking upon her with raised brows, and Pimley’s smile had doubled. He clasped his hands before him and rubbed them together eagerly.
“Hazel, my dear, the pleasure is all mine.”
The meal was a disaster.Hazel apparently had not the slightest clue how to eat properly—according to Slaide, anyway—and it was a wonder she’d made it so far in life without his supervision and guidance. Pimley at least approached his corrections with sensitivity and kindness. Slaide, on the other hand, did his best to belittle and embarrass her.
Each time she moved to take a bite, reach for a new dish, or pick up the wrong knife, she was corrected by Pimley or chided by Slaide. She preferred the former and would have preferred even more if they’d both just let her eat. But, no. It wouldn’t do to have some uncouth peasant spoiling the evening for the nobles with her lack of decorum. All she wanted was to stab Slaide in the eye with her fork. Didn’t matter which eye. Didn’t matter which fork, either. She reached for a slice of bacon and potato pie, glaring at him.
“Forgetting something?” he questioned.
Hazel rolled her eyes so far, it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Pass the potato pie.”
Her demand was met with a raised brow, and no potato pie.
“Dear sir, won’t youpleasepass a slice of that bacon and potato pie?” she asked in her most heinous impression of a whiny noblewoman.
“Better, but next time without the sarcasm.” He reached across the table, handing her a lame excuse for a slice of potato pie. It was more of a sliver than a slice. And she loved potatoes. And bacon. And pie. She frowned.
“Hazel, dear, I think what Master Elias is trying to impress upon you is the… seriousness… of the situation you’ve found yourself in. Your beauty will unfortunately only get you so far among the nobility. They have expectations for how one, especially a young, unwed woman such as yourself, should behave. If you’re found to be… under-performing… well, these people can be quite cruel. That’s all.”Oh, just going to ignore the whole magic thing entirely, I see? As though my manners, not my powers, should be my biggest worry.
She looked from Pimley to Slaide pointedly. “Is it really so hard to show some kindness? Maybe a little patience? Because clearly,hecan manage talking to me like I’m a human being instead of a dog.”
Slaide gave her a glance devoid of pity. “Actually, I’m usually nicer to dogs. But Ilikedogs.”
Pimley dropped his head into his hands. Slaide laughed and swished his wine glass before taking another sip.
Hazel groaned.Insufferable bastard.She muttered something inaudible under her breath before stuffing her mouth full of pie. It was damn near half of the “slice” she’d been given.
“What was that? Couldn’t hear you,” Slaide commented.
Hazel went to open her mouth, but quickly closed it, remembering her manners for once. Back home where it was just her and Pa, she didn’t have to worry about all these shitty rules. They’d laugh with their mouths full of food and mead, talk over one another, and belch loud enough to make a mountain troll blush. Gods, she missed him.
Her stomach twisted into a knot at the thought of her father, and though she’d barely eaten, her appetite vanished. One hand flew to the locket. With the other, she set her fork down abruptly with more of a clatter than she’d intended and dabbed at her lips with the napkin.
“Thank you, gentlemen, for this wonderful dinner. If I may, I will take my leave now.” She pushed her chair away from the table without waiting for permission to leave.
“Whoa there. Slow down. What just happened?” Slaide asked, setting his glass down.
Despite Slaide’s earlier warning, Pimley stood as she did. Slaide shot him an accusatory glare, and he sat, clearly flustered.
Hazel slapped her napkin on the table and spun on her heels, making for the doors. She nearly head-butted the door, half-expecting it to open on her behalf, but managed to thrust an arm out at the last moment. She shoved through the door, shocking the guard who simply watched her pass.
“Hazel!” Slaide called after her. “You’re not excused!”
