MARIGOLD POV
Two hours later, I was convinced royalty didn’t eat food so much as perform it.
A massive golden table stretched between me and Alpha Gregor, the surface covered with more forks than I knew existed in human history. Three maids hovered behind me like silent owls, watching every flick of my wrist, probably ready to sprint straight to the king with a full report of, “Her Highness Margaux blinked five times and stabbed her steak wrong, Sire.”
And then there was Sugar—standing right behind me in her perfectly pressed assistant outfit—grinning like the devil, smirk glued to her face, because she was living for my suffering.
I daintily lifted a tiny spoon (the third one from the right, which I hoped was correct) and poked at what looked like soup but tasted like overpriced sadne
