King Ivar and Queen Revna bow their heads as we approach the table, though I see the Queen watch me from under her lashes before anyone else lifts their eyes. One of her brows arches, and she looks like she just smelled something repugnant. My father holds his hands out and bellows.

“Welcome, guests of Baelliles! Let us sit and feast together, to mark such a joyous occasion!”

The two queens clap lightly, and though they sit facing each other, they don’t make eye contact. My father faces King Ivar, and King Lester of Aeradian sits next to him. We children sit at the opposite end, Lachlan across from me, Idalia to his right. Thedore sits at the foot as if she rules us all. I know this placement makes her feel right at home.

The servants file in and hover over us as they remove silver cloches from the platters arrayed down the table. Delicious smells immediately fill the room. We wait eagerly. Thedore’s eyes are rounded like saucers, and she licks her lips. My father smiles at King Ivar and gestures for him to choose first. We all watch as he eyes the cornucopia spread before him and, all too slowly, opts for a turkey leg slathered in some thick, red sauce. We wait for his first bite, and as soon as his teeth close, the children swarm like hungry dogs.

I gather as much mutton as my plate will hold. Of course, the fish and duck are wonderful, but the mutton is cooked with a specific spice I’ve never found in other dishes. Lachlan’s plate has only bread and a small amount of oil, but he looks content. Theodore’s is a hodgepodge of everything she could reach.

Idalia’s plate sits empty. I stare at it in wonder. Doesn’t she mean to eat? Her face tells the story. She’s waiting for everyone else to have selected their food. Her long lashes flutter over her brown eyes, and I wish I were Lachlan so that I could be as close to her as he is. The adults begin to converse, and Idalia peers at the platters to see what remains.

“Don’t you find our food to your liking, Sparrow?”

Her eyes shoot toward me, and she gives me a demure smile. “Oh, no! It’s not that at all! It’s just….”

I think I know what’s going on in her head. A lady should never be choosy, especially at a table of men. I’ve heard my mother say so too many times to count.

“Come on, Sparrow. You’ve already broken plenty of rules.”

Her smile deepens into a grin, but she looks down at her plate.

“So, what will it be? Duck, venison, rabbit?”

Her nose crinkles. “Do you have any lamb?”

“Mutton,” I say, pointing my fork at my plate.

Her eyes light up. “Even better.”

There isn’t any left on the platter, so I stab the largest piece on my plate and hold it up.

“Psst, Lachlan! Pass this to Sparrow.”