I point to a bowl of tiny balls. “What’s that?” I whisper to Frank as I lift the silver spoon and prepare to put them on my plate. Luckily, the food is spelled, much like the plates. Otherwise, this place would be a mess.
“Fish eggs,” Frank answers.
I drop the spoon and spin to check if an angry fish mama is about to bite me. Nope, all good. “Why would she put her children on the food table?” I grumble.
Frank grabs the spoon I dropped and piles some eggs on his plate. “It’s a delicacy. Try it.”
My stomach flips. “I’m not really in the egg mood.”
“Don’t you eat the eggs of those gigantic birds?”
“Well, yes, but that’s different.”
“How?”
My brows knit as I think of Hamish and Eugene and their quirky butts squatting to lay an egg for breakfast. “Because they gift them to us.”
Right? Oh my Idols, did we steal their eggs? I’ll make it a priority to check in with them as soon as I get out of my watery grave.
“Don’t you also eat their meat?”
My face pales. I’m a cannibal. I eat the brethren of my friends. From now on, I vow to only eat fruit and vegetables—and perhaps a little sausage. Sausage doesn’t count, right?
I point to a less frightening plate of coated rings. “And that?”
“Squid.”
I side-eye the large squid hanging out in the shadow beneath a pillar. Is that condemnation shining in its eyes? Nope, I was done. You cannot eat creatures you share a ballroom with. “What can I eat that I also cannot speak to in this room?”
Frank casts a glance down the long elegant table filled to the brim with a colorful array of strange foods. He points at a bowl of seaweed. “The flora isn’t sentient.”
I screw my face up. I hold out for an entire tempo before my stomach wins.Sorry, Sid the squid.I pluck a ring and pop it into my mouth. It is… not bad. Not good, but not horrid. I bite into it carefully. The fish squeaks against my teeth, and I force myself to swallow.
“How was it?” Frank asks.
I shrug. “I’ll put anything in my mouth once.”
I sample a few more things; a shrimp skewer, which is my favorite, closely followed by crab cakes—not to be confused with actual cakes, of which there aren’t any. I avoid the fish eggs and decide I am not a fan of smoked salmon. Too slimy.
Once my belly has stopped protesting its empty state, we follow the king around the room while he makes jovial conversation with his subjects. He starts off by introducing me to everyone, every single time, as if they haven’t all heard that I am Daphne Stone, the clumsy maiden who stole the dagger not once, but twice, before being fooled by the last Lady of the Lake into reuniting the two pieces. Realization slaps me in the face. I’m a party story. Oh, how low I have fallen.
On the ninth stop, the king drops me as an interest piece altogether and instead, discusses the latest shine on his big fork. There are lots ofoohsandahhs, and I am happy to fade into the shadows. Perhaps I could join the squid? Although, I doubt I’d be welcome after munching on his friend, even if it was only one ring, which was probably the equivalent of a tip of a finger to us. They can’t be that upset over a fingertip. Who needs them, anyway? Shorter digits might be the fashion next annus.
The king suddenly spins to face me and tilts his head. “Why are you following me?”
I blink. “You said we should follow you.”
“I said no such thing. Pretty girls in floaty dresses belong in my bed, not at my feast.”
I park my hands on my hips. “I am neither on your bed nor your feast, and you said this was for me.”
He roars with laughter. “You are a confident young thing. Okay then, you’ve convinced me. Go wait in my chambers, and I shall grace you with my loins later.”
He’ll do what? “No loins, no bed, no floof for you. I am taken.”
“I like them feisty.”
Where did the somewhat hot, kind, older daddy vibe guy go? The one with cute nicknames and making me feel all special?
