Chapter 33 33
MARIGOLD POV
Two hours later, I was convinced royalty didn’t eat food so much as perform it.
A massive golden table stretched between me and Alpha Gregor, the surface covered with more forks than I knew existed in human history. Three maids hovered behind me like silent owls, watching every flick of my wrist, probably ready to sprint straight to the king with a full report of, “Her Highness Margaux blinked five times and stabbed her steak wrong, Sire.”
And then there was Sugar—standing right behind me in her perfectly pressed assistant outfit—grinning like the devil, smirk glued to her face, because she was living for my suffering.
I daintily lifted a tiny spoon (the third one from the right, which I hoped was correct) and poked at what looked like soup but tasted like overpriced sadness. “This broth,” I drawled, nose in the air, “is tragically… common.”
One maid gasped, the other bowed her head, and the last scribbled on a notepad like she was documenting a national scandal.
Meanwhile, I was dying inside. My stomach was basically a marching band screaming “GIVE ME BURGERS”—but nope, Margaux was a delicate little flower who lived off air and complaints.
Alpha Gregor was sitting across from me, fork clenched in his hand like he wanted to stab either the roast duck or me. His wolf was right there in his eyes, feral, but he was trying to eat politely. Trying. Emphasis on trying.
Sugar leaned down slightly and whispered, but loud enough for everyone to hear: “Your Highness, remember to chew. It helps with the swallowing part.”
I froze mid-bite, fork in the air. “Thank you, assistant. I nearly forgot how basic biology works.”
Gregor choked on his wine. The maids flinched. Sugar smirked wider.
Another course came out—some delicate tower of vegetables drizzled with a sauce so thin it might as well have been wishful thinking. I stabbed at it dramatically and sighed. “Oh joy. Food that looks like art but tastes like cardboard.”
One maid gasped. Another whispered, “So bold…” The third scribbled like her quill was on fire.
Gregor set his knife down with a clank and leaned forward, eyes narrowing at me. His wolf was right at the edge, restless, dangerous. “Marig—” He caught himself. “Margaux. Perhaps lower the theatrics before the maids faint.”
“Oh no, Alpha Gregor,” I fluttered my lashes, “they love theatrics. Don’t you, ladies?”
The maids looked torn between bowing and passing out.
Sugar clapped her hands together, grinning and whispered, “Encore, encore! Truly, Your Highness, you’re a natural. Academy Award for Pretending to Be Margaux.”
I shot her a death glare. “Careful, or I’ll have my assistant demoted to coffee-fetching duty.”
Her smirk widened. “Joke’s on you. I like coffee.”
And just like that, I had to take another polite sip of fancy wine—while internally fantasizing about face-planting into a bucket of fried chicken.
Meanwhile, Alpha Gregor’s jaw kept ticking, his wolf pacing behind his eyes like a caged beast, and Sugar… well, Sugar was clearly enjoying my slow, dramatic descent into royal etiquette hell.
Few torture minutes later.
If anyone ever asks me what pure torture feels like, I’ll tell them: being trapped at a royal dinner table with three maids breathing down my neck, Sugar smirking like she’s front row at a comedy show, and Alpha Gregor pretending he’s not one clench away from snapping his fork in half.
Course three arrived. Caviar. Tiny black dots that looked suspiciously like frog eggs, served on a silver dish so shiny it practically screamed, you’re poor, get out.
I picked up my dainty spoon, examined the caviar like it was a crime scene, and announced loudly, “Ah yes, my favorite! Tiny salty disappointments.”
The maids gasped in unison. One even wobbled on her feet like she was about to faint. The notepad maid scribbled so furiously I swear smoke rose from her quill.
Gregor pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded like prayer—or a death threat.
Sugar leaned in behind me, whispering, “Don’t forget to chew those salty disappointments properly, Your Highness.”
I shot her a glare, spoon halfway to my mouth. “Thank you, assistant. Your dedication to my digestive health is inspiring.”
Next came dessert: a tall, delicate confection that looked like a cake but was more air than substance. I cut into it, and the fork literally slid through nothing. “Oh, how marvelous,” I cooed, eyes wide. “They’ve served us flavored clouds. How revolutionary.”
One maid clasped her chest. Another whispered, “Such… refined sarcasm.” The scribbler almost broke her pen.
Gregor finally spoke, low and deadly. “Margaux. Eat.”
I batted my lashes, cutting off a microscopic bite of dessert fluff and placing it on my tongue with exaggerated grace. “Mmm. Yes. Tastes exactly like… disappointment and sugar.”
Sugar let out a dramatic gasp. “Her palate is unmatched.”
Then the wine was poured. Golden, sparkling, probably worth more than my entire life. I raised the glass, swirled it like I’d seen people do in movies, and sniffed it dramatically. “Ahhh. Notes of… grapes, crushed hopes, and the faint aroma of bankruptcy.”
The maids actually bowed. BOWED. Like I’d just spoken divine wisdom.
Gregor’s wolf flared so sharp I swore the air crackled. He clenched his wine glass so hard I thought it might shatter. “Enough,” he growled softly.
I tilted my head, flashing him the most dazzling Margaux-smile I could muster. “Why, Alpha, are you not enjoying our little banquet? Surely this is the height of sophistication.”
Before he could explode, Sugar chimed in brightly, clapping her hands. “Yes, Alpha Gregor. Do smile more. You’ll scare the staff less. Right, ladies?”
The maids nodded furiously, trembling like nervous squirrels.
And me? I took another dainty sip of bankruptcy-flavored wine, rolling my eyes so hard I thought they’d stick. “Truly,” I sighed, “I am overwhelmed by the joys of royalty. I might faint from the abundance of… fancy nonsense.”
The maids immediately moved closer, as if preparing to catch me in case I theatrically collapsed. Sugar bit back a laugh. Gregor looked like he wanted to strangle us both.
Inside, I was screaming for fried chicken. Outside, I was Margaux the Magnificent—sassy, spoiled, and absolutely unbearable.