Father had arrived. My stomach clenched. I typically had more notice. A special dress hanging prominently in the wardrobe. Some sign that I should prepare. Instead, I was wearing a casual cotton light green dress and my blonde hair hung loose down my back.
A gong sounded, formally announcing his arrival and requesting my presence in the dining hall. I rose at once, smoothing my skirts, gathering my hair with fingers that shook lightly. My body still burned and ached, but I took a deep breath and steadied my racing pulse. Each step down the stairs echoed in my chest.
He stood stiffly before the fireplace when I entered, hands clasped behind his back.
He looked as he always did—untouched by time. His posture was flawless, his bearing precise. Silver threaded through his dark hair like frost. The crown upon his head caught the candlelight, gold and gemstones gleaming.
A king. The Unseelie king. Which made me a princess, though I had no court. Was I still a princess if I had no one around me and no one knew I existed?
“Hello, Father,” I said, lowering into a deep curtsy. I kept my gaze lowered until he turned and gestured for me to rise.
His eyes moved over me, assessing me coolly, lingering on my hair, my dress, while I waited for his verdict. His gaze sharpened in a way I didn't entirely understand.
“Your hair is untidy,” he said at last. “And the dress is not appropriate for dinner.”
“I apologize.”Even though I didn’t know you were coming, I almost added, but I bit my tongue. The words would not be welcome.
“Do better.”
He took his seat at the head of the table. A benevolent smile settled across his features, and he waved his hand to the chair next to him. “Sit. Dine with me.”
A creamy soup appeared between us, steam curling upward. Hunger flared fast and sharp. I couldn’t remember when I had last eaten.
He lifted his spoon. I followed, savoring the delicious soup.
“How have you been?” he asked. “Any fever? Any discomfort?”
I hesitated.
“I feel warm,” I admitted carefully. “Restless. As though something is building.”
He paused, the spoon halfway to his mouth, and frowned, studying me carefully. I squirmed under his severe gaze, wishing I had said nothing. After a long, painful moment, he waved a hand, and the bowls vanished, though I had not finished. “You imagine it.”
The next course appeared. Roast pork, potatoes glistening with butter and herbs. My stomach was unsettled, but I was still hungry, so I forced myself to eat slowly, hoping to ease the symptoms that plagued me. We ate quietly for several minutes.
“Father,” I said quietly, “how do we know I'm still dangerous?”
His fork froze above his plate, but he avoided my gaze.
“You have always been dangerous.” He resumed eating, slowly, deliberately.
“But I was a child,” I pressed. “You said I panicked. That I didn't understand what I was doing. I’m older now. What if I could learn? What if we tried?”
His gaze lifted fully to mine.
“You drained your mother,” he said. “You didn’t mean it, but the result was the same. Your powers awakened unexpectedly and you were scared. She tried to soothe you when she should have waited for someone to shield you. Instead, you lashed out, killed her.”
My throat tightened. “I don’t remember.”
“That is because I protected you from it.” His voice remained calm. Reasonable, but there was a hint of anger, of frustration that threaded through his words. “She weakened over days. She grew frail and weak while you grew stronger.”
A flicker of confusion brushed the edges of my thoughts.
“You said she died quickly.”
“That is what I told you to spare you the pain. She lingered,” he replied. “Long enough to suffer. Long enough for me to end it.”
The detail unsettled me in a way I couldn't fully articulate.
