Page 36 of For the Ghastly and Beautiful

That’s stretching reality. Even for me.

But he could have given me a little more warning about tonight’s table discussions.

“Your husbands?” I emphasize the plurality of my question.

I’ve seen women wandering around the village with multiple men. I just didn’t think it was a thing. Honestly, I thought they were… Well, at first I thought they were cheating. But now? I don’t look twice at it.

So, why is Isolde having multiple husbands so strange to me?

“Yes, husbands. That is the earthly term, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. It is. I wasn’t sure I heard you correctly.”

“Oh.” She laughs lightly. “Your ears do not deceive you.”

The glint in her eyes is concerning. Or she’s privy to some inside joke that I don’t want to understand.

“How—What—Why—” Ecaeris snorts as I stumble over my tongue. I bite my cheeks to clear my thoughts, then mutter, “I don’t know what I’m trying to ask.”

I do know that if I were sitting closer to the royal dick, I would kick him under the table. It’s childish, but I would feel better. Instead, I glare in his direction again, desperate to throw bread or a fork at him.

“I see why you insisted on separating them, Issy.” The first husband chuckles.

“Mmm,” the second hums his agreement around wine. “The chemistry is palpable.”

“Ecaeris,” the third mockingly chastises. “Play nice.”

He sounds like an ass, but his smile is warm. That strikes a familiar chord. Ecaeris is much the same.

Isolde quietly purrs, “You should all mind your manners. We wouldn’t want a repeat of our last meal together. Ada seems to be much stronger than before.”

“All in good fun, Mother,” Ecaeris assures her.

As we settle into our meal, I study Isolde and her husbands. They’re happy; that much is plain to see. However, it’s their appearances that keeps drawing my attention away from the food.

The first husband is Kerr. His deep chestnut skin is covered in scars and holds an orange hue. He has cropped, salt-and-pepper hair, but I don’t think the color reflects his age. His eyes, though… They sparkle dangerously, as if black diamonds form his irises.

Zivol is the second. He has flaming red hair, several shades brighter than mine. If we were on Earth, I’d guess it was box dye. But I know it’s natural. Noctis looks to be Zivol’s brother, except his hair is so black it’s blue. They both have sun-kissed skin, dotted with freckles, and eyes as blue as the clearest ocean, mimicking the currents.

Ecaeris is the spitting image of Isolde. From the amber of his mismatched irises to the soft waves atop his head. His sharp jawline and his high cheekbones. His posture, and his charisma…

He looks nothing like the other men at the table.

He shares learned traits with them, like a sense of humor and the cadence in which he speaks. But those are the only resemblances I can spot.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Isolde made him by herself.

I mean, I have attributes from both my parents. I have my mom’s height, laugh, and lips. I still looked too much like my dad to be denied. These hazel eyes of mine were my grandfather’s, though. Or so they said.

Maybe Ecaeris took after past generations?

I eat on autopilot as I think through the possibilities. I don’t know why it bothers me, but I actively have to stop myself from asking in front of everyone.

Once dinner is over, I’m nearly bursting at the seams. My mind is caught in a spider’s web, and I can’t rationally free myself.

The topic of the prince’s paternity is not my business.

As always, Isolde sees more than she should.