“I haven’t been here long, but same,” Hanna says, nodding. She does a little twirl of her own. “I put this on and didn’t feel like I needed to apologize for my body. Do you think it’s because like you said—they love curvy women here?”
“Could be,” I say thoughtfully. “Maybe?—
But just then, there’s another knock at the door.
The maid from yesterday—hair neatly pinned, expression polite and attentive—steps inside and dips into a small curtsy.
“If it please you, my Queen,” she says, her accent lilting faintly, “Lord Lucian ‘as instructed me to lead you to the breakfast nook, so ‘e ‘as.”
Hanna’s eyebrows shoot up.
“This place has a breakfast nook?”
I laugh.
“I know, right? I thought the same thing. But apparently it does.”
The maid smiles.
“This way, if you please.”
We follow her into the hallway, our footsteps muffled by the thick carpets. I keep my eyes forward, deliberately not looking at one particular closed door—the one that leads to the dungeon playroom. I’ve been thinking about how much I enjoy being with Lucian and how I might almost be falling for him…but I can’t forget that if I stayed, that room would doubtless figure heavily in my future.
The maid leads us into a cozy room that feels more like a private tea parlor than part of a towering gothic fortress. There’s another fireplace here, smaller but cheerful, and a round table set with china and silver.
Golden-red sunlight filters in through the tall windows, softened by sheer curtains. It looks kind of like sunset but, I know it’s closer to morning. Maybe it’s just due to the sun here in the Shadow Realm. Maybe it’s not the same one we have in the Human world—which is really weird to think about, so I push it to the back of my mind.
Hanna and I take our seats just as the maid returns with breakfast.
The scents alone make my stomach growl, and I realize I’m really hungry—the feast with Lucian and the Necro Don last night seems like a long time ago.
The food, as usual, is delicious. There are delicate pastries dusted with powdered sugar, their layers flaky and golden…crispy bacon…soft scrambled eggs folded with cream and herbs. Thick slices of toasted bread are served in one of those wire toast racks you only see in movies that feature fancy hotels and there is honey and butter and strawberry jam to go with it. Fresh fruit is arranged artfully on porcelain plates. And to top it off, a pot of tea is steaming gently alongside coffee so rich it smells like heaven.
“Oh wow,” Hanna murmurs. “This is definitely better than my usual breakfast of hospital cafeteria food.”
I grin.
“High praise from a hospice nurse. Let’s eat.”
We dig in, savoring everything and it feels so nice to be having a meal with my friend. I can almost forget that we’re both in a strange, magical world that somehow exists outside the limits of reality. The warmth and normalcy of the moment settles around us like a blanket and the food tastes delicious.
Mr. Mittens, who apparently followed us down the hall, weaves around our legs beneath the table, tail high, purring loudly as if he owns the place now.
“Look at him,” I say dryly. “Apparently he has full run of the Crimson Spires now.”
“He’s definitely adjusted better than I have,” Hanna says, scratching him under the chin as he winds around her ankle, begging for a bite of bacon.
It almost feels like a normal morning. No, better than normal. Normal for me is a few bites of overnight oats and then rushing to work to clock in on time before anyone complains about me being “tardy.” I can’t remember the last time I had such a relaxed, leisurely morning.
It’s really nice.
"So what now?" Hanna asks, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied sigh and patting her stomach. "I mean, what's next on the agenda? Are we going home?"
The question hangs in the warm, fragrant air between us and I don’t know how to answer it.
The breakfast nook is still filled with the scent of buttery pastries and the last hints of rich, roasted coffee. The sunlight slanting through the arched windows paints golden-red pools across the rug, and Mr. Mittens is sprawled in one of them like a spoiled prince.
But something in me twists at the mention of going home.
