Page 88 of Death of a Mortal

“Ha ha…” Gods, I missed that bird.

“Third, you must embrace pain and being uncomfortable. Dance often requires flexibility and strength, which you do not have, and a week is not enough time to attain.”

He mistook my gasp for pain instead of the memory it brought back with Cassius. I gritted my teeth, thinking in that moment that I did not like this male.

“Today, we start with the basic steps. I expect you to practice every night until you get into bed, every morning when you get out of bed, and every other moment you are not with me in your room, until you can do them in your sleep. In a few days, we can progress to practicing with a partner.”

He thought I had a bed and a room… So he didn’t know they kept me in a dungeon cell.Interesting. I wondered what story the king and queen had concocted for everyone else.

The queen caught my eye and gave me a subtle but stern look, clearly communicating, “Not a word.” Then she addressed the dance instructor. “Very well, Thalen, I leave her in your capable hands.”

He bowed to the queen as she left. And then we began.

For hours, he taught me step after step and smacked me with his stick when I messed up, barely even giving me a nod when I got things right. And unfortunately, I had been correct—dancing was complicated. My brain hurt almost as badly as my feet, trying to remember each step, when to curtsy, when to jump, when to twirl.

I felt like the speech I’d been forced to deliver made me afigurativedancing puppet, but now I really was one. The thought made my insides twist with disgust, but I reminded myself this was all for Nella’s sake.

When I was sure I had blisters on my bare feet and was starving for dinner, the queen returned for me.

“There may be hope for her yet, Your Majesty,” Thalen said. “She is getting the basics fairly well. She requires a firm hand, but I believe we can make her ready enough in time.”

He bowed to her again as we left. I hobbled along behind the queen on sore feet.

“You’ll dine with me in the private dining room this evening so I can teach you proper etiquette for dinner with royals and nobles.”

My stomach gave a well-timed growl at the thought of food, earning me a sideways glance from Malvina.

We arrived at the same private dining room where Varyn had betrayed me. This room, while pleasantly warm from the cozy fire, made me feel as cold and empty inside as my dungeon cell. I tried not to think about the fact that I would likely see him at the ball, hoping to avoid him at all costs.

The table was set with two place settings—one at the head of the table and another in the same place I’d been seated at that very dinner. I moved to my previous seat when the queen placed a hand on my shoulder, sending goosebumps across my skin.

“For these etiquette lessons, you will imagine that I am the king, and you never sit before the king has been seated.”

Something about being told to imagine she was the king made me uneasy. I straightened back up from where I had been about to sit and waited for her to take her seat at the head of the table. At the king’s seat.

“Rule number two: do not speak unless spoken to. You will answer respectfully when you are addressed. You will not interrupt or offer opinions unless asked by the king or a member of the court.”

Okay, that was like four rules. Luckily, a servant brought the food to us, and I was so ravenous that I wasn’t sure I was fully processing each of her rules.

Before I could dig in, she hit me with another rule. “You do not touch your food until the king has taken his first bite. If you so much as reach for a utensil before he does, the entire room will notice—and so will he.”

So I sat listening to what she called another “three” rules—which were really likeseven—while the scent of my food teased me to the point of torture. She went on about minimal eye contact with the king, keeping my hands lightly on my lap, when to call him “Majesty” and “sir,” before finally reaching for her own utensils and cutting her fish to take a first bite.

After which, I promptly did the same and took the largest first bite I could fit in my mouth. This earned me a scalding look and yet another rule about taking small, silent bites.

“Dancing is not the only thing that requires good posture. Straighten your back and do not rest your elbows on the table.”

My head was spinning with so many rules to keep track of. It was as if every moment, every movement required careful thought and planning. Cassius only ever made us say thank you. He felt insulted if I didn’t thankhimfor the dinnerIcooked.

I looked to the servants when they came to clear our plates, which was also wrong.

“You do not acknowledge the servants. They are beneath you—well, us—and to acknowledge them is to mark them as equal. Remember, you and they are not equal to the royals or even the fae.”

There was definitely a warning in that rule that extended beyond just the upcoming ball.

Throughout the meal, she critiqued everything from the way I held my fork to the way I used my knife to cut, to how I held the wine glass (full of water, unfortunately, not wine). Most shocking was that I was apparently using even my napkin incorrectly (“dab, don’t wipe, your mouth”). It was everything I could do to hold my tongue—which I think was rule six—and not point out how incredibly out of place I would be dining with the royals and the court, in front of all the other nobles and fae in attendance.

“We will try again tomorrow for dinner. I hope you can retain everything I’ve taught you. At some point this week, we will dine with the king and let him be your final test.”