Page 134 of Reign

Though holding Fitzroy felt strange, I couldn’t deny how much I enjoyed it. I liked his musky scent and the nearness of his face each time he turned to speak.

Arm in arm, we entered the Great Hall, where Regina and her courtiers were already platefuls into the feast.

Wolver was devouring a pile of meat, poultry, and fish; Mabina plucked berries delicately from a bowl; Elizebeth sipped from a steaming chalice of soup; and Slaugh sat as motionless as the dead.

“Welcome,” Billy announced as we approached the banqueting table, while Isobel mumbled a “good eve” through a mouthful of frumenty.

“Excuse our lateness,” Fitzroy apologized, as we took our designated seats.

Regina shook her head, her jewel-encrusted crown catching the light and scattering sparkles through the chamber.

“You’re not late—we began early. I had matters to discuss with my courtiers that I doubted would interest either of you.”

My mind, fogged by hunger, left me unable to speculate what was discussed without us present.

Instead, I placed a few chunks of cheese on my plate and reached for a tray of meat pies. At that moment, Slaugh shifted in his seat, and his dark hand emerged from the sleeve of his cloak to nudge the tray toward me.

“Thank you,” I murmured, ignoring the unease I felt in his presence. “Are you not eating?” I asked, offering him a pie.

“No,” Slaugh said. “This morning, I consumed a few hundred souls of the dead and damned—my appetite’s been satiated.”

“Oh, right,” I mumbled, glancing away uncomfortably.

“I wish someone would satiate my appetite,” Elizebeth groaned, making Isobel giggle into her goblet. “That’s what the Isle’s lacking—eligible suitors!”

“I cannot agree,” Mabina declared, reaching over a bowl of fresh fruit to briefly touch her wife’s hand.

As the conversation around me turned to matters of courtship, Elizebeth looked my way.

“Are you married or engaged to be wed?” she asked, sweeping her auburn locks over one shoulder so she could meet my eye.

A soft laugh escaped me at the thought. “No,” I replied.

“Why not?” Mabina asked, crunching into an apple.

“If I marry, I won’t be able to be a blacksmith anymore,” I said, imagining a realm where I’d never forge again—never feel the satisfaction of completing a task that once seemed impossibly daunting.

Never hear praise for my skill in ironwork.

“I know I cannot avoid it forever—I’m just biding my time,” I muttered, picking up the pie and passing it between my hands.

I could never return to the Wetlands, and that meant never relying on my family for lodgings again. More than ever, I needed to marry—or risk being shunned from society, like the beggars outside the Walled City or the witches working in the brothel.

Sinking in my chair, I felt deflated at the thought.

“I’m sure I’ll end up marrying a villager—neither disappointed nor satisfied in my life, like most people,” I mumbled into a mouthful of pie, sounding just like my mother. “But for now, I remain a maid.”

Isobel gasped, her pointed ears pricking. “You still have your maidenhood?”

Wiping the crumbs from my lips, I nodded, unsure why that surprised her.

Unless she truly meant it when she claimed one could be whoever they wished on the Isle—unshackled from expectations, unafraid of the gods’ wrath.

“That’s all a woman is valued for in Lyonesse,” Elizebeth added, turning her button nose up and into the air.

“Really!” Isobel exclaimed, eyes wide. “Why?”

I shrugged, picking up a piece of cheese.