KING THEODORACIUS'S EYES—lustrous pools of burnt umber richer than the copper-coloured earth—possessed a mischievous glint as they penetrated Maarit's. Within them swirled something dark and nefarious, veiling their surface and preventing anything other than malevolence and frigidity to present itself. It was unclear whether any other emotion had ever lain below, buried in the beautifully abysmal depths of brown.

       The words he spoke sent shuddering chills down her spine and reminded her that she still knew nothing about him and what he was capable of. All she knew was that he was a cold-blooded murderer whose gibbous veins had somehow not yet frozen. He was hardly human anymore—he was a hungry serpent living in the body of a god.

       Maarit swallowed, the muscles in her throat nervously contracting and threatening to strangle her. She straightened her back, attempting to appear stronger than she felt. Her hands clenched together and her fingers entwined with each other.

       "You are bluffing, Your Majesty," she informed him. "What you are saying is nonsense. You barely even know how to place the crown atop your own head—instead, you require your servants to do it for you."

       "Oh, how wonderful that you have finally learned how to properly address a king!" he exclaimed facetiously, his face remaining expressionless. "And I don't think you quite understand me when I say this: I have the entire country of Bonvalet in my hands. With one single word uttered from my mouth, I can begin a war. With a slight of my hand, I can slit your throat or slip poison into your drink."

       Maarit's face burned angrily at the reminder that such a horrid man had so much power over so many people.

       "Is that how you managed to poison your father?" she demanded of him, cocking her head.

       He did not retort, but simply pretended not to hear her as, at last, Picard returned. Beside him was a dark-haired, ebony-skinned man. Once Picard and the other man reached the king, they bowed for him.

       Maarit grew curious as to why the second man was needed when Picard seemed to do just about everything around the castle.

       "Rise," King Theodoracius told them impatiently, almost as though he would prefer if they did not bow for him. "I am quite hungry and would very much like to begin our feast."

       Without the need to be told, Picard immediately conjured two plates out of thin air and sent them towards the table. The plates settled onto it as a feather might have—it was as though they weighed nothing. One nestled itself on top of a much larger plate in front of King Theodoracius. The other did the same in front of Maarit. Then, the goblets and bowls began filling as well.

       Soon, Maarit had before her a plate of boiled lobster, carrots, turnips, rice and cheese tarts, and a steaming bowl of pea soup. The delicious redolence that the assorted foods gave off seemed to seep into Maarit's chest and cradle her lungs delicately. She inhaled and closed her eyes, enjoying the fragrance for a moment.

       Then, horrible memories rushed into her mind, and she was back in the dungeon cell, smelling the same delicious fragrance as hunger made gaping holes in her stomach. She smelled the putrid scent of decomposing flesh and felt the cold stone floor once more. Her eyes flew open and she immediately looked away from the plate in front of her. Waves of queasiness and anxiety washed over her.

       She associated this delicacy with imprisonment and despair.

       She inhaled shakily and peered into her goblet. There was wine—red wine as deep in hue as blood. Needing the wine's hazy influence, she placed both hands on the goblet and lifted it to her lips.

       "Ah, ah, ah," said King Theodoracius, causing Maarit to lower the goblet and look across the table at him. "Not quite yet. Brickenden must first check that it has not been poisoned."

       Her eyes immediately flitted to the dark-skinned man, who knelt before King Theodoracius's food. Maarit realized that he was tasting it—he was clearly the taste-tester, so that if the king's food had any trace of poison in it, he would die instead.

       "I deemed him necessary after the death of my father," the king explained. "Since he was poisoned, I did not want to meet the same fate. You see, while I have previously mentioned the fact that Picard makes the food, I did not mean it entirely. We have a kitchen, and the chefs cook it. Picard simply brings it here from the kitchens."

       "But then why can't Picard just check it for you with sorcery?" Maarit asked him.

       "Yes, you see... the problem lies in if Picard would attempt to poison me himself. Or perhaps he would lie and say the food isn't poisoned, when, in fact, it is. We cannot have that, no. That is why I required a man to taste it. If he does not die, I know the food and wine are safe."

       Brickenden stood up and plucked a spoon from one of the empty seats. He dipped it into King Theodoracius's wine glass and took a spoonful, raising it to his mouth. He drank it from the spoon.

       "Now he must taste yours, dear," King Theodoracius informed her.

       Maarit knitted her eyebrows together. "No," she told him.

       Brickenden stopped in his tracks, clearly not used to seeing and hearing anyone oppose the king.

       "No?" the king echoed inquisitively, appearing visibly confused.

       "I don't want him to taste it," said Maarit adamantly. "Trust me: if someone has decided to poison me, I am being blessed."

       To enforce this idea, she grabbed her goblet of wine once more and drank from it. The tangy taste of the wine tickled her taste buds delightfully. From the moment that the wine greeted her tongue, she knew that it this was so much more than mortal blood. It had to be the blood of the gods and goddesses, for it was the most delicious wine she had ever tasted.

       "Well... alright, then. Suit yourself," said King Theodoracius, seeming taken aback. "Bon appétit."

       Maarit looked down at the food and her stomach flipped. She slowly reached for a spoon and, as she lifted it, she realized that her hand was shaking. She plunged it into the pea soup and took a spoonful, forcing it down. It was undeniably delicious.

       The sound of chuckling caused her to raise her head. She caught sight of King Theodoracius, whose face had broken into a mocking grin. His eyes trailed over her in amusement.

       "What?" she snapped at him, frowning.

       "I've never eaten with a commoner before. None of you quite know proper manners. It is quite entertaining to watch."

       Maarit's frown deepened and she raised her eyebrows at him.

       "Elbows?" he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

       Again, she stared at him blankly, her thick dark eyebrows rising deeper and seeming to disappear into her hairline.

       "Oh, for the love of God—your elbows are on the table," he told her dubiously, rolling his eyes at her.

       She gazed down at herself and realized that he was, in fact, right. Gritting her teeth, she slid both of her elbows off the table and picked up the spoon again. She lifted it to her lips again, taking another sip of the aromatic pea soup. Her breaths had become ragged with anger and frustration towards the monarch.

       Suddenly, about half a dozen servants came rushing into the room, holding objects they used for cleaning. They all had somewhat of the same look to them—thin in a sickly way, with their ribs and the rest of their bones jutting from their bodies. Some swept the floor, some mopped it, some dusted. A question occurred to Maarit upon seeing how malnourished they looked. Before she could even stop herself, she asked it.

       "What do they get to eat?"

       King Theodoracius, who had been thoroughly savouring a piece of boiled lobster, opened his eyes.

       "They eat what we do not," he said. Maarit was still puzzled as to what he meant, so he elaborated. "Anything that I leave on my plate is what they get to eat."

       "What?" she said quickly, dropping her soup spoon as though she had been burned by it. "That's all? With all of the money you have, that is all you give them? A few uneaten crumbs of the food that your teeth have already bitten into?"

       "But of course."

       "Why?"

       King Theodoracius sighed, setting his fork down. "Because I am a greedy man—selfish and troubled and evil down to the very core."

       Maarit's brown eyes grew wide. She looked down at her uneaten food, before pushing her chair out and standing up. How could she indulge in this food that she did not even want when these people were starved every single day of their lives?

       "In that case," she said, addressing the king defiantly, "I am no longer hungry."

       She beckoned to the servants and they immediately flocked around her food like birds.