I watch my new client from just within hearing-range, sipping my gin cocktail and contemplating mortality. There is one thing I can say for Cheribry Allacosta, as her name turned out to be when she got over her shock that I didn't know it already.

She's not boring.

I've been observing her for hours now, and in that time I've cringed harder and more frequently than I ever have before.

Strings of lanterns looped through the branches of courtyard trees glow to life as the lavender twilight deepens into night. The steady stream of food, drink, and entertainment for the highborn singles and their Gourmand spectators only picks up as the evening deepens, dashing my hopes of getting the hells out of here soon.

"Of course, I'd need you to take up the child-bearing, should we marry," says Cheribry to the unfortunate young woman whose table she shares. "My figure's too fine and willowy...I simply don't have the constitution for it. But you're of thick, sturdy stock. You'd fare far better than me. Why, with hips that wide I'd bet—"

The woman's face pales, and I bring my hands up to cover my ears, hoping it looks like I'm just resting my head. Lutra save me. Within moments, the unfortunate young woman makes some excuse and rises to leave Cheribry—yet again—by herself. I let out a breath through gritted teeth.

Turning to catch my eye, my client rolls her own and throws up her hands in a "what did I tell you?" sort of gesture. Thankfully her attention returns shortly after to the other singles, her narrowed eyes scanning the herd for likely prey.

I toss back the rest of my drink and cross my arms. Almost immediately, one of the many silver-uniformed servers hurries over to replace my glass with a full one. The music picks up, and after a time the singles begin to drift in groups and pairs toward the crystal-tiled dance floor. But Cheribry is left to trail behind the crowd alone.

Flipping my gatorhide book to a fresh page, I scratch down a few more notes. But it's not as though I can even start planning any actual recipes, I have no idea yet what ingredients we'll have to work with. As I watch, my client sidles up to attach herself to one of the smaller clusters of nobles. But within moments they've coupled up and split away, escaping amongst the other dancers.

My heart sinks as the most undesirable of the undesirables swivels to fix her gaze once more upon mine.

"Lutra save me," I breathe as she starts straight for me.

"Good luck with that" says Cedro from his post at my side.

"Cedro," I correct myself. "Save me."

But he just chuckles and shakes his head.

Moments later she's sitting down across from me in a huff, gesturing for one of the servers to bring her another drink.

"So," she says. "You've seen enough to know what I mean by now, haven't you?"

"I—"

"You know, I was actually thinking. How are you supposed to help the situation by serving something to me, when the issue is with my options? Perhaps, if I just pointed out to you the ones I like best, you could convince one of them to eat your dish and fix them up to be a proper prospect?"

My hand drops to the table and the glass hits the surface so hard I'm surprised it doesn't break. I stare at her.

"I know, I know. But don't feel bad that you didn't have the idea yourself. I think that'll just be so much easier for you than trying to find some way to better me,"

Lifting a hand, I call over another server and make a quiet request as Cheribry chatters onward. The gentleman returns some time later bearing the item in question on a silver tray, but I catch his eye and tilt my head toward my companion, and he sets it down in front of her instead. She raises a brow. "What's this?"

"My absolute favorite sweet," I say, reaching out to pluck a bit of the nut brittle from the tray. Cedro bends at the waist to sniff it, confirming what I already know. No poison. "It's absolute perfection, just like you." Then I look deeply into her eyes as I pretend to nibble on the edge of my piece, softening it with my tongue.

"Oh goodness," she titters, daintily selecting a piece. "Have you forgotten your own marital status, Your Majesty?"

She takes her first bite, begins to chew...and then her eyes go wide as her jaws lock together. I can't hold back the smirk.

I take a deep breath, not out of nerves, but because I still haven't adjusted to the altitude. Force myself to ignore the voice of my father in the back of my head, urging me towards caution. 

"The thing is, Cheribry, everyone has a different idea of perfection. What seems perfect to you isn't always ideal for everyone else. And you have an exceptionally singular idea of perfection."

Confusion twists her features as she attempts to pry her jaws apart. But I lean in just as her lips fly open to respond, reaching up to grasp her under the chin, forefingers and thumb pressing into her cheeks as I hold her mouth closed.

"If you don't want to spend the rest of your life alone and unallied, you're going to have to talk a little less sometimes and listen more. And you're going to have to change. Because whether you're capable of seeing it or not, it isn't your perfection that's driving everyone away. It's the fact that you are utterly, completely, and comically insufferable. And I'll bet not a one of your milksop, blithering piss-noble peers has ever had the courage to tell you as much."

Her eyes go wide and her skin blanches flour-white as her hands fly up to wrap around my wrist.

"Have you forgotten who I am?" I ask, tone casual. Her fingers fall away to curl into fists. I release her, but she's actually lost for words now, glaring at me with reddened eyes.

"I don't have to accept your help," she hiccups at last as I settle back, picking up my glass to take another drink. "I don't have to eat anything you make for me." Her back straightens until she's looking down her nose at me. "I can just walk away, and you'll be sacrificed."

"You could. But who else will help you once you've earned the ire of the Heir?"

Her fists release to clench and unclench at the ruffles of her skirt, her lip trembling.

"I...I could..."

"You could nothing. You need me to succeed every bit as much as I do." I swish the ice around in my cup. "Now why don't you go and get a good night's rest? We have a big day tomorrow, and I think you've made enough of a fool of yourself for one evening."

Her chair scrapes back as she leaps to her feet, face flushed to crimson now.

"You'll regret treating me like this, you trussed-up commoner," she spits before turning her back on me in a flurry of flouncing skirts.

"See you tomorrow," I call after her before finishing off my cocktail.

~*~

"You said what to Cheribry Allacosta?" Chiara's expression twists into something I can't even begin to to read, and her vitei isn't much help either. The sudden surge in both spice and mango-sweetness could be fury as much as amusement.

I shrug. "I said what she needed to hear."

Her eyes narrow. "She is the sixth daughter to the richest and second-most powerful of all the great families."

I snort. "That explains her winning personality."

Over near the entrance to our shared accommodations, Cedro suppresses a chortle by turning it into a cough.

"And if her family were to suddenly take umbrage with the crown, it'll affect more than just my terrible family. It could mean civil unrest. People's lives."

"Since when do you care about the people?"

Her nostrils flare, her vitei going citrus-sour.

"You realize if you don't succeed, if she refuses your food, you die."

"She won't refuse my food."

"I hope you're right about that, wife. Because if you are, then all of this is hilarious, and if you're not—you're dead, and that'll be highly inconvenient for me."

"I'm always right, and stop calling me that. Also go away. I need sleep."

Chiara kicks off her silk slippers and draws her feet up onto the bed opposite where I sit at its other side.

"And I don't? Self-care can be draining too, you know."

"So go to your own bedchamber."

"My dearest, our suite here has just the one."

"Fine." Standing up, I drag the duvet off the bed and towards the door. "I'll sleep on the couch in the sitting room, then."

"Oh, don't be—"

I slam the door before she can finish. A heartbeat later it opens again, and Cedro follows me out.

"She's actually not a terrible person, in spite of being a royal" he says as I settle myself in the sitting room. "Believe it or not, she—"

"I don't want to hear it. You don't know what I went through with her."

"You could tell me."

I laugh, turning my back on him as I lay down on the couch.

"Goodnight, Cedro."

~*~

I'm trapped in the dark again. Her laughter echoes back to me, growing fainter. I slip a little further down the laundry chute, my body wedging into place. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. I try to pry my lips apart to call for help, but her whispered command hasn't worn off yet.

Tears roll down my cheeks, hot with shame. I squeeze my eyes shut and do what I always do to get through her torments. I make myself the promise. Over and over again.

Someday, somehow, I'll make her pay.

~*~

An earth-shattering clash of thunder startles me out of a nightmare of the past, bolting upright. Panic races through my veins, hands already grasping about in search of earplugs. The first thing I see is Cedro, his striking eyes wide with concern.

"It's alright," he croons, stroking my sweat-slicked hair back from my brow. "You're alright. It's just a regular storm. You're safe. I'm here."

His tone confuses and soothes me all at the same time, and I take one deep breath after another. Then suddenly he clears his throat and settles back, his hand falling away.

"Sorry," he says, a bit roughly. "I, ah—my sister used to have night terrors, and she'd panic whenever there was thunder. Just fell into my old habits, I guess."

I study his eyes for a moment longer, barely able to handle the sorrow I see there without wrapping him into a hug.

Distract him. Make him laugh.

"So...I'm not safe or alright?"

He snorts, but his lip curls upward to one side. "Brat."

I gasp and bring a hand up to my mouth.

"How dare you speak that way to a royal?"  I exclaim, deploying the loftiest tone I can conjure. 

Success. He smirks at me, eyes flashing.

"I think you forget what I am, Your Majesty."

A sudden shift in the flavor of his vitei kindles a new heat at my core.

"Oh?"

"It's funny how you Sensari underestimate the actual senses themselves. And mine are strong. My instincts are stronger still."

My eyebrows shoot further up my head.

"Oh?"

"And all of mine are telling me that you'll never be one of them. And nothing she does can change that, or take away who you really are."

Our gaze locks as a thrill runs down my spine. The heat in my blood builds.

"I—"

"You're welcome to fuck, you know."

Whipping my head around I see Chiara, leaning in the arched entryway to the sitting room. I'd been so focused on Cedro I hadn't noticed her, though he clearly must have. His expression is impassive. 

"Really. I don't mind. You have my permission."

"What happened to you needing sleep?" I snap back at her, drawing my blanket up over my shoulders.

The sky chooses that moment to unleash another crashing growl.

"Same thing that happened to you, right?" Her dressing robe flows about her figure as she pads her way over to us and drops down onto the couch beside me. Her replacement guards linger in the shadows beyond the entryway. Cedro raises from his kneeling position beside me and steps back.

"Well, if you're going to be here," I begin, pushing myself to my feet with the blanket still around my shoulders as I turn from her. "I'm going to go ahead and—"

But just as I'm taking my first step away, the blanket snags. I turn back to glare at Chiara, who clutches hold of it in both her fists...and almost lose my own grip on it entirely. Her eyes are wet.

I've never seen her cry. I didn't think she could.

"What the—"

"Please stay. Please. If you go, Cedro has to go, and he's usually the one who...who helps me through this."

"Through what?"

More thunder breaks the even rhythm of the rain, and a shudder runs through her entire body.

"The storm."

"I've never seen you have any problem with storms before, and those were Reaper storms."

"It's when they're at night," she says, voice actually breaking a bit.

And that's when the memory hits me. 

A flash of lightning, a roll of thunder. Screams in the distance.

The night her mother died.

I look at her, tears streaming freely down her cheeks now, and consider.

What the hells are you hesitating for? Who cares if she's traumatized? She traumatized you. Make her pay.

Rubbing my head as if that'll clear it, I sigh and look over at Cedro.

"Where's the kitchen?"