Chapter 7: I Hate Family Dinner
Genealogically, the king is my uncle. Impressive, huh? You have an uncle who commands the entire country, can literally start a war if he wants, and on top of that, can give you the job of the dreams or abolish any existing taxation.
Wrong. Very wrong. Terribly wrong.
The king being your uncle means there’s a criterion to be met. In family gatherings, there’s always that annoying aunt who likes to show off her successful child, and when that person shows up, you yourself end up looking like crap compared to them. That’s precisely why I wanted to avoid any contact with my family at all costs!
I’m at the bottom of the food chain, the worst of the worst, the people up there are going to devour me with words and etiquette. Right now, looking at myself in this expensive mirror with my hair neatly styled and this suit the Duke lent me, I even feel like fleeing.
There’s still time to jump out the window and maybe scale the palace walls, right? Who knows, maybe I could go to Madame Cerise’s brothel and find Elizia there, have a good time in her arms, forget the world. I’d really like to do just that now.
"What a mess..."
I run a hand over my face, calm simply won’t come. No amount of acting will protect my ego now. At the café, it was tolerable, but here... what will I do if I throw a wine glass at the king, or worse, curse at them? If in the original work someone was decapitated for a single ugly word, what will become of me?
Knocks echo from the door.
"Coming, almost done!"
It’s a lie. I’m not finishing anything, I haven’t even started. I’m sweating like a pig in the sun, staring at my own face in that gold-framed mirror as if it would reveal some divine enlightenment. All I see is a high-collared clown.
No way out.
Footsteps outside indicate that the soldier, or servant, or executioner, whatever, is waiting for me with arms crossed. I have two minutes at most before they kick down the door, thinking I’ve fainted from nerves or tried to kill myself with the lapel brooch’s pin.