Page 57 of Somber Prince
Her eyes moved over the paper, then she quickly rolled it back and slipped it into her bra top.
“It’s nothing.” She waved me off. “Just some stupid prayer for our souls or something like that.”
“Why are you keeping it if it’s nothing?”
“Am I supposed to litter?” she snapped at me. “If you see a trash bin, let me know.”
Kostya kept glaring in the direction of the food stand we’d just passed.
“What kind of food is that bitch selling?” he asked Sigid. “It stinks.”
“It smells like boiled goat meat and raw turnips or possibly cabbage,” Sigid corrected calmly. “It’s unseasoned, with no added scent of spices.”
Lucia cringed. “She sells boiled, unseasoned goat meat? How does she even stay in business?”
“Well, that guy bought five portions from her,” Elaine noted. “He clearly didn’t mind the taste or the smell.”
“Neither the taste nor the smell matter to us, as long as they aren’t those of rot,” Sigid explained. “The meat is usually mixed with cooked grain and shredded vegetables. It’s then pressed into packets to save space. It’s perfect to take on the road or as a quick midnight meal when one is on the go. And it contains enough sustenance to last until the next meal.”
For shadow fae, functionality won over taste and flavor. With pleasure not being a factor for them, food didn’t need to smell enticing or taste delicious.
“Is that what the Royal Court eats too?” Melanie wrinkled her nose. “Boiled goat?”
Sigid nodded. “Among a few other things, but the variety isn’t nearly as large as the list of foods for the Joy Vessels.”
One had to marvel at the versatility of skills of the royal chefs who, after years of boiling meat for their prince, managed to create a perfect crème brûlée for me when I had obnoxiously ordered it.
After browsing the aisles for a while, Melanie talked me into trading my golden belt for a necklace for her.
“You can get another belt if you play your cards right with the prince,” she insisted. “It’s not like I’m going to get any royal presents anytime soon.”
“And whose fault is that?” Lucia chimed in. “If you think you’re too good for the leilatha harness, what’s the prince supposed to give you presents for?”
“He can take his presents and shove them in the same place where he can shove that harness,” Melanie retorted. “I’m not letting anyone mutilate my body like that.”
“But you’re perfectly okay with your sister ‘mutilating’ her body in order to get you that necklace?” Lucia obviously wasn’t one to back down.
“It’s fine, honestly. I don’t mind.” I tried to stop the argument before it would blow up into a fist fight, or worse. Melanie had always been pushy. And in Lucia, she seemed to have met her match.
“I’m sick and tired of her I’m-better-than-all-of-you attitude.” Lucia fumed. “Like she should get a medal for not letting them put that thing on her.”
Melanie propped her fists on her hips. “You just feel gross now that they harnessed you up like a horse.”
“What if I don’t mind being ‘harnessed up?’” Lucia raised her voice to the point of yelling. “What if I like staying in Teneris? Not everyone hates it here as much as you do or is as grossed out by their food as that chauvinistic oaf is.”
“Hey! Watch it, bitch,” Kostya protested.
“Oh, shut up.” Lucia waved him off, staring my sister down. “I worked two soul-sucking jobs, lost my apartment, and slept in my car for weeks before the shadow fae took me. So, I’m not going to apologize or feel bad about liking it here. Now I have a roof over my head and regular meals, whatever the food may be. I don’t have to deal with obnoxious assholes trying to grab my ass while I’m mopping the floor in the diner after a nine-hour shift. I don’t have to clutch a knife in my hand in case someone breaks into my rusty car while I sleep between my shitty jobs. And if all these gloomy fuckers want from me in return is to share my happy mood to cheer them up, so be it.”
Melanie rolled her eyes so hard, I feared they would stay deep in her head somewhere. She sucked in a long breath, ready to keep screaming, but Sipho, the quiet man in our group, spoke before her.
“I don’t have a harness either,” he said softly. “They never put one on me.”
His calm voice seemed so out of place amidst the heated argument, we all turned to him at once. Looking uncomfortable in the spotlight of attention, Sipho shrugged, spreading his arms aside.
“It’s true,” he said.
Shoving his long-sleeved tunic off his shoulder, he presented us with the view of his ribbon-free dark-brown skin. Unlike most of us, Sipho had been wearing long sleeves, making the lack of harness unnoticeable until now.