Isla
LYSIA'S BLUE EYES ARE PIERCING from across the table. Apparently, we were late for breakfast and the rest of the royal family had had theirs an hour ago.
She is expertly stoic and her features are blank. I try not to let my eyes linger on her face for too long and busy myself with chewing my food.
Before us are platters ofboiled fish, brown rice, salad made up of dices of carrots and slices of lettuce, baskets of bread rolls, jugs of milk and mead. The array of food overwhelms me. I try not to seem greedy and limit my plate to two bread rolls, pieces of spicy fish and the salad.
I bite into the soft warm bread and my taste buds sing out in delight. The bread is sweetened with honey and contains resins and thin slices of coconut in them. I gobble them down and gulp a cup of milk to
