By the end of day three, I finally understood why Gosto had warned me that the etiquette lessons might be “unpleasant.” Personally, I could’ve thought of a dozen better adjectives most of them profane. Another curse slipped from my lips as the tiny porcelain plate slid off my shoulder just as I reached for the soup bowl with my spoon. That cursed plate was one of several absurd accessories Ermes had decided to balance on my body, all in the name of posture correction during mealtime.
With a dramatic, utterly maddening sigh, Ermes bent down with infuriating grace, retrieved the plate, and placed it back on my shoulder. “Again,” he said calmly, as if this wasn’t the ninth time today.
“Do vampires extend their arms like claws or something?” I asked flatly, unable to keep the irritation from
