I sat at the main table between Killian and Daphne, trying very hard to look like I belonged here. Like I was born to navigate political dinners with seventy werewolf royals instead of serving coffee to college students in a small-town bookstore. The main table held the kings, queens, and their most trusted advisors, while several other tables filled the hall with dignitaries and nobles who all seemed to have opinions about everything.
Fun times.
Daphne leaned toward me, her voice barely a whisper. “Is it just me or is Silvermane glaring?”
“Not just you,” I whispered back, taking a sip of wine. “They’ve been glaring all night.”
She pulled out a small piece of paper from somewhere in her dress and scribbled something, passing it to me under the table like we were teenagers in detention instead of queens at a formal state dinner.
I unfolded it.That Valoryn’s hat looks like a dead bird.
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. She was right. The elaborate feathered thing perched on one of Valoryn’s noble head absolutely looked like roadkill. Expensive roadkill, probably, but roadkill nonetheless.
I wrote back:It might BE a dead bird.
Daphne read it and her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. She scribbled another note.Should we tell him?
Absolutely not,I wrote back.
Think anyone would notice if we left early?
Everyone. Immediately.
Damn.
I tucked the note into my napkin, catching Mal’s eye. He raised an eyebrow at us, clearly aware we were being ridiculous, and I gave him my most innocent smile. He shook his head, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
This was how Daphne and I coped. I’d only been queen for about two years or so longer than she’d been, which meant we wereboth figuring out how to navigate this world of formal dinners and political landmines. Passing notes and making jokes about stuffy nobles kept us sane. Without it, I probably would have stabbed someone with a salad fork by now.
Seven forks on this table. Seven. I still didn’t know what most of them were for.
“How do you handle the constant judgment?” Daphne asked quietly, her smile never wavering even though her eyes were serious.
“Wine,” I said, taking another sip to demonstrate. “And imagining them all in ridiculous underwear.”
She choked on her wine. “What?”
“Makes them less intimidating. Silvermane definitely wears tighty-whities. The old-fashioned kind with the yellowing elastic.”
“Oh my god,” she wheezed, pressing her napkin to her mouth. “I can’t unsee that now.”
“You’re welcome.”
She took a steadying breath, composing herself. “I still feel like I’m faking it. Like any second someone’s going to point and yell ‘fraud.’”
“Same. We’re all just winging it and hoping no one notices.”
“That’s actually comforting.”
“Right? We’re all frauds together. The secret sisterhood of queens who have no idea what we’re doing.”
The banquet’s purpose was to strengthen the alliance between the seven kingdoms and discuss any issues that had arisen, from border disputes to trade agreements to common enemies. Political stuff that made my head hurt but was apparently very important.
But mostly I was watching Killian.
My son was fielding questions from what felt like every single person in the table, some even walking past just to talk to him. It was fucking weird. They kept addressing him directly, leaning toward him with expressions that ranged from curious to calculating to barely concealed judgment.
At first, he loved it. My extrovert was thriving on the attention, answering questions with the kind of enthusiastic honesty that only four-year-olds possessed.
