Chapter 11: A Table Full of Teeth
1096 Words
The council chamber was built to intimidate.
High vaulted ceilings.
Black stone pillars carved with the history of royal bloodlines.
Windows tall enough to shame mountains.
At the center stood a table long enough to seat thirty people and divide twice as many enemies.
Every chair was occupied.
Every conversation had died the moment Destiny entered on Kael’s arm.
She felt the silence strike first.
Then the stares.
Ministers in layered robes.
Military commanders scarred and broad-shouldered.
Nobles glittering with polished arrogance.
Scholars clutching scrolls like weapons.
And at the far end—
An elderly woman dressed in white and silver, posture straighter than men half her age.
Her eyes were sharp enough to draw blood.
She looked directly at Destiny.
Then at Kael.
Then sighed.
“Of course,” she said.
Kael did not slow.
“Good evening, Grandmother.”
Ah.
Wonderful.
The terrifying woman was royalty too.
Destiny was beginning to suspect intimidation ran genetically.
Kael guided her to the seat at his right hand.
The seat at his right hand.
Several people visibly stiffened.
One nobleman actually dropped his spoon.
Destiny considered him fondly.
She sat carefully.
Kael took the chair beside her as if nothing about this arrangement was explosive.
Across from them sat Princess Lyra, already enjoying herself.
“Shall we begin,” Lyra said, “or would everyone prefer another minute to stare badly?”
A few coughed into napkins.
Servants entered with the first course.
No one touched it.
The elderly woman at the end of the table folded elegant hands.
“I am Queen Mother Evelyne.”
Destiny nearly inhaled wrong.
The former queen.
The King’s grandmother.
Naturally.
Destiny inclined her head.
“Lady Destiny Winters.”
Evelyne’s brow lifted.
“Not trembling. Unexpected.”
“Internally, I’m exceptional at it.”
Lyra laughed into her wine.
Kael’s mouth moved faintly.
Evelyne studied Destiny another moment.
“Humor under pressure. Better than perfume.”
Several noblewomen looked offended.
Excellent.
---
Dinner began with all the warmth of a legal dispute.
A minister cleared his throat.
“Your Majesty, perhaps we should discuss the northern tariffs before… social matters.”
Kael buttered bread.
“No.”
The minister blinked.
“No, Your Majesty?”
“No to your sentence. Continue chewing instead.”
Silence.
Destiny stared at her plate to hide a smile.
Another councilor, Lord Varren, leaned forward.
“With respect, the court deserves clarity regarding the… guest.”
Guest.
How generous.
Kael sipped wine.
“Then be clear.”
Varren hesitated.
“Is she a servant? A political hostage? A charitable project?”
Destiny’s appetite vanished.
Kael set down his glass with precise calm.
“She is sitting in a chair. If your eyesight worsens further, we’ll summon healers.”
Lyra openly applauded once.
Varren flushed crimson.
“That is not what I meant.”
“I know,” Kael said. “That was my favorite part.”
A commander at the far side hid laughter badly.
Destiny risked glancing at Kael.
He looked perfectly composed.
Only his eyes were cold.
He was angry.
For her.
That realization unsettled her more than the insults.
---
The second course arrived.
No one had relaxed.
Princess Lyra cut into her food delicately.
“Since subtlety has died, let us proceed directly.”
She looked at Destiny.
“Do you intend to stay?”
Every gaze returned.
Destiny set down her fork.
Honesty, then.
“I don’t know.”
Murmurs.
Refreshing scandal.
Lyra smiled slightly.
“Excellent answer.”
Lord Varren looked appalled.
“You refuse the honor of royal protection?”
Destiny turned to him.
“I refuse making permanent decisions on my third day of freedom.”
The commander who laughed earlier choked on his drink.
Even Queen Mother Evelyne’s expression shifted.
Interest.
Varren sputtered.
“You were given extraordinary favor!”
“I was given a room and anxiety.”
This time half the table laughed.
The other half hated that they did.
Kael leaned back in his chair, watching her with unreadable intensity.
She wished he would stop doing that.
She also wished he would never stop.
Annoying.
---
Midway through the meal, a servant approached Kael and bowed low.
“Message from the western border, Your Majesty.”
Kael took the sealed note, read it once, then twice.
The room changed.
His posture did not.
But danger entered the air like smoke.
Lyra noticed instantly.
“What happened?”
Kael folded the note.
“Rogue attacks on three villages.”
The commanders straightened.
Lord Varren paled.
“How many?”
“Enough.”
He rose.
Conversation erupted.
Orders were issued.
Maps demanded.
Guards summoned.
The council dissolved into organized alarm.
Destiny remained seated, pulse quickening.
This was ruler Kael.
Not teasing Kael.
Not protective Kael.
This man wore command like skin.
He turned to her amid the chaos.
“Return to your rooms.”
“I’m not a vase.”
“No,” he said. “You are currently in the path of one.”
A scholar, backing away too quickly, collided with a decorative urn and nearly sent it crashing.
Kael caught it one-handed without looking.
Then handed it back.
The room paused.
He glanced at Destiny.
“You were saying?”
She hated that she laughed.
“I said I’m not helpless.”
“No,” he replied quietly. “Which is why I’m asking, not ordering.”
The distinction landed harder than expected.
She stood.
“What can I do?”
Several councilors looked scandalized.
Kael considered her seriously.
“Eat dessert.”
She stared.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“And stay where I know you’re safe until I return.”
Before she could answer, Queen Mother Evelyne spoke from the end of the table.
“Take the girl.”
Everyone froze.
Kael turned.
Evelyne’s gaze remained on Destiny.
“If rogues move in coordinated strikes, old powers are stirring. If she is what I suspect, distance will not protect her.”
The chamber went silent.
Destiny’s skin chilled.
What I suspect.
Kael’s eyes narrowed.
“Explain.”
“In private,” Evelyne said smoothly. “Since half your council leaks faster than damaged roofs.”
Offended noises followed.
Lyra looked delighted again.
Kael extended his hand to Destiny.
“Change of plans.”
She looked at the hand.
Then at the room full of teeth.
Then placed her fingers in his.
“Where are we going?”
His silver gaze held hers.
“To war,” he said.
And somehow, the way he said it sounded like a promise.
- Writer
