The Defiant

The dining room was rectangular, with a long table running down the center of it. Prime Minister Milonakis sat at one head of the table, with another, shorter man in the seat next to him. They both jumped to their feet when we entered.

“Your Highnesses,” Milonakis said in his slimy voice, “May I introduce Assistant Minister Davalos.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Davalos said enthusiastically, bowing low and then bouncing back upright. He was a jovial-looking man, with a round face, watery blue eyes, and short light brown hair. He bounced on the balls of his feet while he stood in front of us.

“And you as well,” Three said formally. We all curtsied.

“Please, sit down,” Milonakis said, gesturing to the table.

Servants appeared from the walls, seemingly out of nowhere, and pulled out five chairs for us, then vanished again.

I sat down next to Three, who had gotten stuck in the seat across from Davalos, at a right angle to Milonakis. Four settled herself on my other side, with Seven across from me and Eight next to her. The boys stood along the walls, trying—and mostly failing—to look guard-like.

I surveyed the table setting in dismay. There were at least four different forks, as many spoons, and three different cups. We hadn’t taken etiquette lessons aboard our Defiant. How had we forgotten something so simple? Milonakis would expect royalty to have perfect table manners. We were sunk.

I would just have to fake my way through by watching the Ministers and hope the other girls would have the sense to do the same.

The servants returned with crystal pitchers and filled our glasses with water and a green liquid before disappearing again.

Milonakis stood up, holding his glass, the one with the green fluid.

“A toast, to Your Highnesses. It is our great pleasure to receive you for the Rest Day festivities.” He threw his glass back, draining it in one gulp.

Following Davalos’ lead, we lifted our glasses to him, then drained ours as well. I had to restrain myself from coughing it back up. The stuff was like fire! It clawed its way down my throat and roiled in my stomach.

Unfortunately, Four wasn’t as good at hiding her revulsion. She spat the juice out immediately and coughed. Green flecks stained the pristine white tablecloth.

“What the—” she exclaimed. With her accent, I realized in horror, and kicked her shin under the table.

“Ow! Wh—? Oh! I’m sorry, Prime Minister—” she said. I cringed, but at least she had returned to the Eranian accent.

“The lavaberry juice is not to your liking?” Milonakis asked. He had raised one eyebrow at Four’s outburst, but hadn’t seemed to notice the accent slip, thankfully.

“I apologize for my cousin’s behavior, Prime Minister,” I stepped in. “She is not fond of lavaberry juice.”

“Of course, of course. We will speak no more of it,” Milonakis said silkily, then clapped his hands. The silent servants returned, removing the soiled tablecloth and replacing it before setting the table again, all in a manner of seconds. Milonakis sat back down like there had been no interruption, and we all followed suit. Davalos looked highly entertained.

“Your Highnesses, if I might inquire, what brought you here to celebrate this holiday with us this year?” Davalos asked as the servants whisked the first course onto our china plates, a weird assortment of small round purple nut-like objects, and what looked like lettuce, except it was translucent white.

“Mother hardly lets us leave Erana. I thought this might be a welcome diversion from the political unrest there,” Eight said, delicately placing a bite into her mouth and chewing. She was an impressive actress, perfectly capturing the bored, spoiled heiress character.

“Ah yes. Between the Kassi and Yueh factions, I believe?” Milonakis also tucked into his food. I looked at mine, somewhat repulsed, but forced myself to take a bite. It was surprisingly delicious. The white leafy stuff reminded me of milk, and the purple nuts had a hearty, sweet taste.

“That’s right. They’re squabbling over some territory or some such again,” Eight said, taking another bite and setting her utensils down on her plate, only a third done. Too late I remembered that the Eranians never finished dishes, as it was rude to fill up on one dish, displaying doubt in the taste of those to follow. I quickly set my silverware on my nearly-empty plate. The others had remembered to not eat it all, though Four eyed her nearly-full plate with hunger as it was whisked away by a fair-haired waiter.

“So juvenile. Can they not simply revel in the prosperity of your lovely nation?” Milonakis said, tssking. He noticed my almost empty plate as it was taken away, but said nothing.

“I agree. I never see the need to argue over such things. It does worry our mother so.”

Milonakis and Eight exchanged a few more meaningless words, and then we passed the next six courses in near silence. By the final course, a tiny fruity dessert in an ocean of sugary sauce, my dress was feeling uncomfortably tight despite my care to never eat more than half of a dish.

“An excellent dinner, Prime Minister,” I said, hoping to speed things along. I was ready to get out of there, away from his shark smiles and dead black eyes.

“Thank you. My kitchen staff is very accomplished. I look forward to seeing you at the ball tomorrow,” he said, gesturing to all of us, but his cold gaze lingered on me. I shivered slightly, and his sharp eyes caught the motion.

We stood up to leave the dining room, Eight and I at the rear.

“Princess Rafaela, a moment, if you will.” I stopped walking and turned around.

Three turned around to look at me, but I nodded at her to keep walking. Everyone left but Six, Milonakis, and I.

“My dear Rafaela,” Milonakis said, rounding the table to approach me. He grabbed my chin hard, yanking my face up. I heard Six surge forward behind me, but I raised a hand to stop him.

“Unhand me, Prime Minister,” I said coldly.

“Of course, I apologize,” he said, letting go and moving back. “But you may want to watch your step. You wouldn’t want to slip up.”

“Certainly. Good night, Prime Minister.”

I left the dining room with Six as quickly as I could without running, and slumped against the wall of the corridor, shuddering. I could still feel Milonakis’ creepily cold hand on my face.

Six gestured at me, and though I didn’t understand what he said, I understood the ‘are you okay’ look.

“I’m fine. Just—I’m fine. Let’s go back to the room.”

Six smiled apologetically at me, teeth white against his dark skin. He took my arm and we headed off to the rooms.

I tried to reassure myself that everything would be all right, but the closer we got to this ball, the more my stomach was tying itself up in knots.