Page 66 of The Order of the Bitter Hunt

My mother says nothing, but I can see her disapproving look. She’s likely wondering where my manners have gone. It was she who taught me to be polite, after all, but hunger has replaced my etiquette lessons as of late.

I dab the corner of my mouth with a napkin.

“You look pale, darling,” she says. “Have you been drinking enough?”

The sneaky insults are already starting.

I know she means well, and berating is her way of showing love, but it doesn’t feel like the love I need. It feels like twisting, squirming, discomfort, and a shadow cast over me.

The most painful part is how she can see through me. My father has spent weeks with me without realizing I haven’t been drinking enough, but my mother saw it in a second. I’m unsure which I prefer, her constant prying or his inability to pay me any real attention.

A mother’s love can be the strongest thing in the world. Sometimes it’s powerful enough to feel like a hug.

Other times, it’s like being strangled.

And oh, my father is paying attentionnow. His gaze weighs heavily on me.

“Schoolwork has been distracting me… and the play. As Papá said, I didn’t get a spectacular part, but I am the understudy of the leading lady. I have to be prepared for anything.”

My mother clicks her tongue. “Your health should come first. You know better.”

“I do.” I look down at my plate.

The food is unappetizing when my stomach is twisting with nerves. I force myself to cut off a small chunk of rare meat and pop it into my mouth.

“It’s all right.” She leans over, resting her hand on mine. “I’m home now. You’ll be fed and happy by the time I leave.”

I return her smile with a shaky one of my own. “And how long will you be here this time?”

“As long as you need me. Would you like me to stay, perhaps for the remainder of the year?”

If I ask her to, she will, but I won’t. My mother has always loved traveling more than she loves Castine. My father’s work is the only reason she returns.

I want to be enough for her to return to, but I’ve accepted I will never be.

“I won’t keep you from your travels. Where will you be heading next?”

“Your father and I long to visit Morocco for Christmas.” She beams. “And, oh, won’t you come with us? You can bring your mate!”

My head snaps in my father’s direction. “You told her about Jun?”

My father believing Jun and me are mates is one thing, but my mother willnotfall for it. She can see the truth in every matter and is unafraid to call me out.

He holds his hands up defensively. “It came up naturally! I didn’t realize it was a secret.”

“Of course, it came up,” she says. “This is important. I must meet him at once. Your father already has. It’s unfair.”

“I’m not trying to keep him from you.” I aggressively cut a piece of meat despite my lack of appetite, desperate to keep my hands busy. “You can meet him whenever you please.”

My knife scrapes against my plate. The sound is loud enough to make my mother flinch.

“Then you will bring him to the next dinner,” she says.

I smile wryly. “Yes, Maman.”

In another circumstance, my mother showing interest in someone I’m seeing would be wonderful—but I’m notseeinghim, and we are certainly not mates. The weight of my mother’s expectations crushes me, and the secrets between my father and me add to the heaviness.

I manageto survive the dinner—just barely. Between my mother’s questioning and my father’s playing stupid, I’m alone on an island between them. My driver brings me back to Strode, and tears stream down my cheeks as I amble through the courtyard.