Mica glanced at the clock hanging overhead then the guests who began to trickle out of the room one by one or in pairs. Her gaze flicked back and forth steadily, hand gripping the arm of the jug tight enough to pale her knuckles.
The words of the King echoed in her mind. She was to remain.
Why?
She focused on the queen instead who was sipping on her wine delicately, the rim of her cup smudged a pale pink. She had not glanced once in the direction of her husband, and Mica began to notice the distance between them.
A space that went much deeper than the physical.
The air shimmered around the queen's shoulders — faint at first, like heat off stone.
Then came the outline of scales. Eyes blinked open, slit and yellow, and looked straight at her.
A cold hand reached through her chest and gripped her heart in a fist.
Mica gasped and staggered back onto the wall. The impact sent wine sloshing over the rim and onto her tunic staining it red.
The queen glanced over her shoulder in dull curiosity.
Mica opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
She looked again at the queen's body where the serpent had wrapped itself around her only to find nothing.
Mica shrunk into the corner and muttered a quiet sorry while dropping her eyes to the floor.
Leave. I need to leave. I need to get out of here.
In between her racing thoughts she kept glancing up at the queen, expecting for the apparition to form itself in the air but nothing happened.
Am I going crazy?
Eventually the final guests left the dining and so did the queen, rising up from her throne gracefully and bowing in the direction of her King before exiting. Mica watched her leave, the slow pacing and casual sway of her hips to a music only she could hear.
She glanced at the King who had not yet moved, considering making her quiet exit as well.
It's not like he can see me.
But then he leaned his cheek on one fist and stared at an empty seat positioned on his right hand.
"Will you be joining me for dinner, little lamb?"
Mica stared hard and long. She considered not answering; letting the silence fill the void until he suspected that she had left, but he spoke.
"I can hear your heartbeat."
He raised two fingers and curled them– come here.
She walked slowly and nervous, pausing behind the seat and placing the jug down before dragging the chair back. The moment she sat Mica felt something brush her bare ankle beneath the table.
She jumped. "What–"
His foot hooked against the leg of her chair and with practiced ease, drew her towards him.
The distance was shortening with every scrape of the floor and she gripped the lip of her chair tight to prevent falling off in a scare. The movement halted once her knee brushed his own.
Mica stared at everything but his face.
The walls. The table. The plates. His gloved hand adorned with a simple golden ring on the pointer finger, thin and delicate.
The silence was heavy, bottomless. She could feel his attention on her, heavy-handed and pressing down yet he made no attempt at speaking.
"Do you drink?"
Mica glanced at him from her periphery, "Well," she began dryly, "I have been tasting your wine quite a bit."
His mouth twitched, "That is different."
"No." She confessed with a shrug, "Maybe once in a while when my uncle would take me to the tavern." She stopped, hesitated on revealing even more.
But the King had sniffed out her past like a hound smelling blood. He smiled all teeth, "How is your uncle?"
She shifted in her seat, knocked his knee beneath the table, and tried readjusting the chair but his foot was still hooked on it, stopping any withdrawals.
This man.
"My uncle is… my uncle is fine."
"Do you have parents?"
"Do you?" She countered all sharp and defensive before regret froze her tongue.
The King's head tilted, still propped on one fist, as if he just heard the most amusing story and ran a thoughtful finger on his bottom lip.
"My little human," he murmured more to himself, "hunger does you no favors."
She wanted to apologize, somewhat, for snapping at him. Yet a stubborn flame within her refused to be snuffed out of intimidation.
Her shoulders dipped and she kicked a petulant foot beneath the table while muttering out the excuse, "... I missed breakfast…"
"So I heard."
"Who told you?"
"Their eyes are mine own."
Just then the dining door opened gently and she tensed, ready to leap out of her seat, a stain of pink rising up her neck from the prospect of being caught dining with the King.
"Venison and wine, my King."
The servant set a tray of assorted foods before her; thinly sliced venison in red sauce, a side of potatoes and vegetables she knew nothing of. And a cup of chilled sweet white wine that went down her throat too easily.
"Is this for me?"
"It is," he placed a knife and fork – his own– by her plate, "I prefer you satiated."
She looked at the plate in awe, at the vast array, then at him from her eye corner. For a long moment she did nothing, perhaps too self-aware, and then it dawned on her that he could not see her explicitly.
He's blind.
Reaching for the fork and knife, Mica sliced into the meat and nibbled on the end tentatively. The taste was exquisite, a burst of flavors on her tongue. She speared more with the potatoes and ate, gaining confidence with each bite that he could not see.
Her body sagged with relief and the only sound that echoed in the room was scraping of her fork and knife.
"Is it good?"
Mica paused, cheeks stuffed to the brim, and gazed at him. "Mngfh–" she reached for her cup and took a few sips of wine and swallowed. "It is. Thank you."
He nodded and sipped from his own glass patiently until she finished.
"Earlier," he began, catching her attention, "you spilled wine on yourself."
The patch had already dried but the smell of it hung in the air.
"I did," the image of the snake wrapped around the queen with its eyes on her. She sipped her wine and cleared her throat focusing on the food.
Her hand was trembling. She tried to still it when he spoke.
"What did you see?"