The First Meal

Dinner began with a familiar murmur.

Maidservants ran about with dishes in hand, Father chatted along with Edmund, and not a sound came from my lips.

I looked up as Alfie, our head butler, set a steaming plate of simmering eggs down with an almost magical elegance. This was the same morning routine that this room saw day after day.

Against the ornate walls of Galinding Manor, windows showed the brilliant light of the spring sun. Just looking outside made me almost squint. But in that spring’s light, my sister Emma shone brighter than any flower.

My sister swirled her eggs around, still perfectly intact. When someone thought of Emma, their first thought always drifted to her brilliant red dress, adorned by a crown of long brown hair. Her green eyes couldn't help but draw you in with a single glance. By every definition of mine, she was a picturesque noble.

“Thank you as always, Alfie,” Father spoke as the last of the dishes arrived, adorning the white tablecloth. “Do you happen to know what the chefs are preparing tomorrow?”

“Steak with asparagus, Sir. Charles.”

“Very well, you may go.” And with a bow, Alfie retreated back.,

With the pleasantries out of the way, Father quickly changed the conversation to his favorite topic, politics. “You know, Edmund, the recent movement against the western border…” With every word, his political drabble became white noise akin to a subtle breeze.

At least that wasn't exactly difficult. As Father took a seat at the head of the table, I was so graciously given the lowest seat at the opposite end. A mere fifty seats sat between us, and deep down, I wished it were many more.

“Clair?” Emma’s voice came as a whisper. “Are you going to eat those eggs, or am I going to have to take them out of the kindness of my heart?”

“We can't all shove food in our mouths like the world’s going to end tomorrow,” I whispered. My appetite wasn’t exactly great whenever family breakfast rolled around. Or any family meal for that matter.

“No no.” She glanced towards the two men discussing their pointless politics, then slid down a few seats, eventually sitting next to me. “They’ll just get colder the longer you wait!”

My fork shifted as a familiar taste washed over my tongue, and Emma went on. “Honestly Clair, I think the kitchen hit their mark today. Alfie’s magic power makes some incredible dishes!”

“If he found a way to mess up an egg with magic, I would honestly be more impressed,” I muttered.

Her face broke into a grin. “Well, we’ll just have to hope that horrid day never arrives! I can’t think of a bad meal they’ve served since you were barely five.”

“That was like ten years ago! How accepting are your taste buds?”

“I don’t choose what makes food so good; I just know it is. Now come on, warm eggs beat cold ones every time.”

“Screw it.” What was I, a child? For Emma’s sake, I could scarf down a few eggs. It wasn’t like Father was serving us rotten meat.

Emma grasped my hand in hers. A familiar warmth spread throughout the pleasant banquet hall. Not another soul in the manor could hope to copy such a feeling. My family made that perfectly clear.

Outside, servants pruned away at the thriving roses. In the spring sun, the gardeners constantly fought back and forth with the plants, with neither side exactly pulling ahead.

Our dining hall shared a similar fate. To Father, a single missed speck of dust might as well have been declaring treason. We couldn’t have anything but the best. The daily screams echoing towards some poor servant served as a constant reminder.

“Speaking of, Father,” Edmund’s voice sadly decided to pick up in tone. “Have the rabble down near the town of Levinet decided to stop with their little pity party over the new tax bill?”

“Mostly. Before the moon fully rose, I sent a spare battalion to quell the protests. Edmund, there was a saying that my father told me when I was your age. When the peasants decide to complain about their place in the world, it's your duty to show them their place among the cattle.”

“I—” My voice froze, plate clattering as I shot up.

Father’s gaze zeroed in as a scowl appeared on his face. “Do you have something to say, Clair? Go on, I’m sure you must have something floating around up in that head of yours.”

“N-no, Father…”

“That sounds about right. No need to feel bad. Everyone has their own gifts, ours simply went to different places.” To the Ringers, his smug smile made me want to puke. I’d rather him just call me an idiot.

It wasn’t the villagers' fault Father decided to double their taxes! And for what? All that suffering because he wanted some extra decorations for Emma’s eighteenth birthday; A party they certainly wouldn’t be allowed within a thousand miles of.

Besides me, Emma stared daggers at the two men.

“It’s fine,” I whispered. “I shouldn't have said anything…”

“No, it's not!” She shoved her chair back. “I can’t stand you two propping yourselves up without giving a single thought to how the villagers you’re hurting feel! You’re sentencing our own people to suffer this winter. For what? To prop up my birthday a bit? When did I ask for that? Hell, I never said I wanted a party at all!”

“Quiet! Do you think I would allow my daughter's coming of age to be anything less? This is an important day for the entire territory! Levinet may have to suffer, but it's for the greater good.”

“So the greater good is higher quality champagne? Oh, I’m sure whatever prince wanders in will love the distraction!”

“Know your place!” Amidst the sudden shouting match, I shrank down behind Emma’s chair. I couldn’t help but tense up at every word that sputtered from that man's lips. The simple fear of his iron grasp sent shivers down my spine.

Emma slammed a nearby tray in disgust. “No fancy chandelier is worth a man freezing to death in the cold! You think it's bad now? Just wait until they starve in the dead of winter!”

Her fierce determination, that look of rebellion that came across her face. Emma was much more of a noble than I could ever hope to be.

Something I reminded myself of again and again.

“Sir Charles, wouldn't it be best to continue this debate another time?” Amidst the three-way shouting match, Alfie walked in, softly cutting the conversation short.

“Yes, that's probably for the best, Alfie.” Father sighed. “Report back to your rooms. There won't be another warning.” Soon after, both men waltzed out the grand golden doors behind my chair, Edmund not far behind.

“Clair?” Emma knelt on the rough rug. “Are you ok?”

“Of course, I’m more than old enough to handle a bit of shouting.”

She lightly chuckled.

Rude.

“Well, I’ll be heading off to bed then. Make sure to get there sometime before the sun rises.” She smiled, heading through the same doors Father had passed through moments before.

I glanced back at the dining table, now exponentially more cluttered than before. Maids dashed about cleaning the mess. In mere minutes, the table shone clean, the rug pristine, and the windows shone through the evening's fading light. Father’s fits may have scared the living daylights out of your average person, but damn did they make people efficient.

With a quick apologetic smile, I made my way out the golden doors.