Page 26 of Nice

"If I recall," Kris intones from the front, "you never had a problem with stuffing your face every time you had the chance. Poor Father couldn't keep the house stocked up enough when you came to visit."

Asmon's eyes bulge out of his head as he takes a firm step forward. Not wanting a repeat of earlier, I pull him back, hoping the shifters don't notice. Thankfully, they stay looking straight ahead, following their Christmas overlord. The next few minutes pass in silence, but the anger coming off Asmon is thick in the air. I struggle to breath and keep calm as we follow the trio.

However, all thoughts and discomfort drain out of me the moment we enter the dining room. It's like I've been sent back into time. Candles dot every available surface and most of the wall space. Polished wood gleams in the flickering light. That is what wood is seen. Food of every type fills the massive dining room table giving the space a lighter, cheery vibe, contrasting with the dark wood and fabrics. Several people sit in the chairs, all of them talking and laughing together. My throat squeezes as I take in the homey, family scene.

Is that what we would have been like if things stayed the same? Christmas dinners with all the family gathered about? I shake my head, refusing to allow my brain to go down that morose path. Once my parents died, Christmas died right along with them. Being an only child also meant not having much family to celebrate with anyway. Not that I would have. I buried myself in my work and refused to look back up.

Once we make our way completely in, the chattering stops, and all eyes look at us. Dasher and Rudolph take their place among the other guests as Kris walks up the head of the table. The place of obvious honor. Even the chair is massive and thronelike. The other guests continue to stare at us, some curious, others openly hostile. Shrinking back, I tried to hide behind Asmon's massive frame, but he doesn't let me.

His hand curls around my arm and he draws me out in front, holding my back against his chest. I look up at him. His jaw is set in a firm line as he stares down the other people. Taking my cue from him, I squint my eyes and thin my lips. I try to make myself as intimidating as possible, even going as far as putting my hands on my hips, but all it does is break some of the tension. Smatterings of laughter flow across the table until the entire room is in a complete uproar.

Sighing, I sink back into Asmon, relief flowing through me. His strong hands guide me to an empty chair near the foot of the table, putting me next to Dasher and him directly across from Kris. The gulf between the two is massive, but Kris still sneers as Asmon takes his seat. Folding my hands in my lap, I cast glances about the table, watching them to take my cue. Luckily, there's normal silverware next to my plate and only one of each. I would have died with mortification if I had to navigate fancy place settings.

I don't have to wait long before a row of elves come up from behind and across from us, each burdened with food and drink. Puzzled, I look at the food in front of me before I turn over my shoulder to smile at the elf directly at my right.

"It's okay, I'll just eat what's at the table."

The male harrumphs as if I'd just cursed him out before setting down a goblet filled with a dark liquid and plate with two, small, steaming towels. My eyes fly to him and back to the plate, then back up to him. His thin lips curl up into a small smile which he quickly hides with a small cough. Casting surreptitious glances at the others, I mimic their movements and wipe down my hands before returning the towel to the plate. The elf executes a brusque nod and gathers the plate before exiting with the others.

"Get new help?"

Asmon's gaze follows my elf out the door before turning to Kris. He gives an offhanded wave before picking up his goblet filled with a brilliant, white liquid and taking a deep drink.

"You expect me to remember everyone that works here?"

"I do. Your father did."

The small whispers that had going around the table come to an abrupt stop as several sets of eyes go back and forth between Asmon and Kris like they're at a tennis match.

Growling, Kris slams his goblet down. "You have no right to speak of Father."

"I have more right than you, you stuck up, snobbish -."

"Asmon!" Red stands up from his seat and casts him an imploring look. "Please. Just keep the peace."

Next to me, Dasher sits poised, his body half out of his chair. Every inch of him looks coiled and ready to strike. As I look about the table, I notice every single guest is in a similar position. I count them off, and pale. This must be the entire reindeer clan. They all look vastly different, but all of them are wearing a solid white suit and carry an air of lethality about them.

Some of their faces are filled with contempt and scorn, others look at me with pity or sympathy in their eyes. At that moment, I realize how truly alone Asmon is, and it breaks my heart. No one should have to deal with such hate and prejudice. As I open my mouth to say something, Asmon's warm hand engulfs mine. His thumb travels about, stealing my breath. He gives a small shake of his head and takes a drink from his goblet. Like air from a valve, the tension, once again, leaks out of the room.

"Are you not thirsty miss?" The soft male voice startles me from my thoughts.

"Sorry. This just isn't my kind of drink." In actuality, I have no clue what it is, but based on the smell, I'm guessing it's some sort of mulled wine. I don't detect any alcohol, but after what happened last time I got drunk, I'm not taking any chances.

Grinning, he pulls out a mug piled high with whipped cream and marshmallows. "I had a feeling you might not like it. Here, North Pole's specialty. Decadent hot cocoa."

I take the mug from his hands, grateful for the warmth seeping out. It feels familiar. It feels like home. Even the mug looks suspiciously like one I had growing up as a child. I turn to ask the elf about it, but he's nowhere to be found. Looking back at the mug, I trace the familiar figures of Santa and his reindeer on their Christmas Eve flight. My fingers move about the mug without my knowledge as memories once forgotten pour into me. Sighing, I slide the tip of my tongue into the fluffy whipped cream, sighing as the sugary taste explodes onto my tongue.

Moaning at the decadence, I bury my face in the mug, not caring at all who's watching me. Peeking up over the rim, I catch Asmon's heated gaze. Winking, I go back to finishing off the whipped cream. As good as that tasted, it’s nothing compared to the warm, melted chocolate coating my tongue and throat. All thoughts of home disappear as I gulp down the precious liquid as quickly as I can without burning myself. Within a minute or so, all of it's gone, and I'm staring down at the bottom of an empty mug.

"You can't have any more until after you eat some real food."

Asmon's dark voice penetrates my brain. Looking up, I frown, not really understanding why he's telling me no. "I can have another if I want. You're not the boss of me."

Snickers titter up and down the table and Asmon's face pinches up. "I'm in charge of your well-being, so yes, I am the boss right now, and I say no."

I slam my mug onto the table and stand. The world tilts on its axis for just a moment, and I clutch the table to regain my bearings. What the hell is wrong with me? I shake my head back and forth, trying to dispel the ringing that's pulsing through my brain. But it doesn't go away. Unable to control my actions, I walk over to Asmon and poke him in the chest.

"I'm tired of you telling me what to do. That ends now."