"Was her mother a breeder?" Lysandra blurts out. "I've heard about those creatures before, women who make a living out of bedding rich, powerful werewolves. Was something the matter with your mother?"
"Lysandra?" I say, but I don't get any other words out before Ina answers.
"No, my sister's mother wasn't a breeder. It's not for me to say what transpired between my parents." I can hear the sorrow in her voice, and I regret bringing her. I should've known better.
"Is that why you wanted to become a feeder?" Lysandra asks, poking again. "For the same reason, your kind becomes breeders? Were you hoping to gain power and position?"
"Lysandra!" This time it isn't a question. "You know this wasn't her choice.
Why would you ask a question like that?"
"Just because it didn't appear that it was her choice, that doesn't mean it wasn't," she says, as if I've been duped. "Who knows what a werewolf will do?"
"She's not a werewolf," I correct my fiancée. "She's a wolf shifter. There is a difference, you know? Werewolves don't even exist. And I strongly suggest both you and your brother stop asking Princess Ina questions, as you are irritating me by upsetting my guest."
"Well, I'm sorry." And there it is, the tone I was looking to avoid. "I guess I didn't realise she was so very important to you. Princess! She's not a princess. She's an Alpha's daughter. I'm the only princess here."
"All right, Lysandra." My tone alone is enough to make her curl in on herself slightly. "Let it go."
"Your Majesty?"
Ina's sweet voice has me ripping my eyes away from Lysandra's glare. I take a deep breath, already knowing what she's going to ask me. "Yes, Princess Ina?" I emphasise the title I have bestowed upon her. Whether she was a princess or not when she arrived, she's one now because I said so. I could proclaim my untouched fork a princess, and that would speak it into existence.
"May I please be excused?" Her voice quivers slightly, and I can tell she's trying to escape the table before she begins to cry.
Without answering her directly, I signal for the servant who has been assigned to her to escort her to her room.
Before the man can step forward, Brennan says, "I'll take her."
I meet his gaze for a moment, contemplating whether or not I should allow it. My best friend taking a troubled guest back to her room makes perfect sense. So why do I find myself saying, "That won't be necessary."
Brennan takes a deep breath, holds it, considers arguing with me, but by the time he picks his poison, the servant has already helped Ina out of her chair, and she is making her way out of the dining room at such a pace, it is unnecessary for Brennan to follow. He shakes his eyes at me, a sign between us that he disagrees with my decision, but I have no reply.
I am about to end this entire fiasco anyway.
The woman who had been sitting next to Ina all night, an older woman who has been a member of the court for decades, says, "Thank god she's gone. Now I can breathe again," and several of the people sitting near her laugh.
I am taking names now. Those people just ate their last dinner at this table.
As for Lysandra, she has a very satisfied look on her face as she daintily wipes her mouth with her napkin, and I want to reach across my brother and slap her.
Theo, who has been unusually quiet for him, also has a completely placid look on his face I can't quite understand, but I won't create more problems by asking him why he's so happy. Instead,
I excuse myself from the table, ready to end this catastrophe of a dinner.
(Ina)
I don't make it too far out of the dining room before the tears begin to streak my face. I swipe them away and continue to march down the hallways, trying to remember which direction I'd come from.
I hadn't been paying that much attention when Brennan led me in since we'd been chatting, and I'd foolishly assumed he'd escort me back to my room—or someone would anyway.
The servant who has been assigned to take me back to my room does not seem so excited to be doing so, and he's a good ten feet behind me when I reach a hallway I'm unsure of.
Did we come from the left, down by that suit of armour, or the right, by that painting of a peacock with blood dripping from its mouth?
"It's a right, my lady," the servant says, and I turn to nod in thanks as I turn to the right and go past the peacock. At the end of this hall, there's only one way to go, and when I reach the end of the next hall, I remember the painting of a blood red ocean.
After that, I recognise where I am, so I can make it to my room without the servant's help. I find the door with the butterflies and flowers and knock. I'm not sure why. No one answers, so I let myself in and find that Helga and Nellie are not here.
It's just as well. I'm not in the mood to explain to anyone what has happened anyway. I was making it through dinner all right until the questions about Lola kept coming up. After that, I couldn't keep my emotions in check anymore.
Lysandra is a raging bitch.
I can't imagine why in the world someone as intelligent and understanding as King Solan would want to marry her.
Pulling my earrings off, I manage to kick out of my heels and lower myself to the ground. The necklace I'm wearing seems to weigh at least ten pounds, so when I remove it, I literally feel like a weight has been taken off my shoulders.
For me to think that King Solan is anything but evil is a complete change from my feelings toward him only a short time ago. It just goes to show that there truly are two sides to every story.
Taking deep breaths, I decide to focus on getting to bed. I am exhausted in every way, and I hope that, when my head hits the pillow, I can sleep for at least ten or twelve hours.
I do my best to reach around and unzip my gown, but I can only get it down about an inch or two, and then I can no longer reach. I am fTheoible, but it's a stretch even for me, and then, the zipper sticks. "Oh, come on!" I growl, thinking I am going to rip the dress.
It's certainly not the most comfortable thing I've ever had on, and I can't imagine sleeping in it. I try again, but I can't quite get my hands in position to work the zipper down.
Cursing, I think I will have to figure out where Nellie or Helga is.
A soft knock on my door makes me think that perhaps they've felt my distress or otherwise been ordered to come to my room.
I throw the door open, but it's not my maids standing on the other side, and when I lock eyes with him, all I can think to ask is, "What in the world are you doing here?"