~Edward
Dinner at the palace was always the same.
Grand.
Unnecessarily extravagant.
I sat at the long mahogany table, its glossy surface reflecting the golden chandelier lights above. The walls of the dining hall were draped in red velvet, and the scent of roasted meat, garlic, and fresh herbs danced around the air like a spell.
Maids moved swiftly—almost like shadows—as they brought in dish after dish: roasted duck glazed in honey, buttery mashed potatoes with truffle oil, steamed asparagus, spiced rice, bowls of mixed vegetables, golden-crusted pies, and fresh bread with herb butter melting into it. It was a feast for a dozen people.
Yet only three of us were at the table.
My mother sat at the head, regal and sharp-eyed in her silk gown, her posture as perfect as ever. My sister,
