The First Meal

Marinette woke up alone in the stone, tower room. She couldn't call it her bedroom. Not yet. Yes, it had been decorated lavishly: all rich wood, ornate carvings, and the kind of rug that even a queen would want to sink her bare feet into to revel in the softness and texture. But the room lacked the comforting touch of home. The flowers, the paintings, the signs that anyone had lived in it before.

It was like being a guest in her own space.

The light filtering through the drapes got brighter—a startling sight after all the darkness and gloom from yesterday. Part of her had wondered if she'd even be able to tell the difference between night and day.

She got off the bed and crossed to the window, pulling the heavy drapes open. Her eyes widened.

"Oh," she murmured.

The palace was still shrouded in mist, but a warm, amber haze had set over everything, like being cradled in honey. Pine and birch trees peeped out from the mist-covered valley below. Some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. Things still grew here. It wasn't just a realm of death.

A soft knock.

"Are you awake?"

She flinched, spinning around to face the door. "Uh … yes?"

That had not been intended as a question, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

"You must be hungry," he said. "Breakfast has been prepared. I'll take you to the dining hall."

"Can I get dressed first?"

"Oh, er, of course. I'll just … wait here."

Her mouth twitched. For a god, he was kind of awkward.

She quickly got ready, though she hesitated at the door. He had done nothing to alarm her so far—if anything, he'd been unexpectedly respectful—but it was still strange to think of him as her husband. Maybe that's why, when she did open the door, her cheeks were pink and she couldn't quite meet his gaze.

"Thank you for waiting," she mumbled.

"The palace is large and I don't want you to get lost. Plus, you don't know where the dining hall is anyway, so that would have just made it harder, and breakfast would have been ruined by the time you did find it, and …" He pressed his lips together, seeming to realise he was rambling. A small inhale, and then he straightened his posture. "Did you sleep well?"

She bit her lip, fighting back an urge to laugh. It probably wouldn't be a good idea. "Y-yes, I slept well."

"Good. That's good."

They stared at each other.

He turned on his heel. "The dining hall is this way."

oOo

The table was huge. He pulled out a chair for her at one end, where a plate of steaming porridge had been set, along with some fruit and bread. She sat down, allowing him to push her seat in for her. He sat at the opposite end of the table.

Well, this was awkward.

They ate in silence except for the soft clinking of spoons against wooden bowls. Words itched at her tongue, wanting to spill free, but nothing came out. It was like the table was a mountain between them. She'd have to scale all that space just to ask one question.

"Do you like the food?" he asked.

Relief swept through her. "Yes. It's very nice, thank you."

The silence snapped back into place. Somehow, it was even worse now.

"I …" She moistened her lips. "I didn't know a god of chaos would be such a good cook."

He paused. "Oh. I, uh, didn't make this."

"But I thought you said we're the only ones here."

"It's magic."

She blanched, peering at the food like it might sprout feelers.

He laughed, and the sound startled her for how warm and open it was. "It's perfectly edible, I assure you.

Her brow creased. "How does it work?" She prodded at the remaining porridge with her spoon.

"From a thought."

"A thought?"

He smiled slightly. "Don't worry about it. Just know that the food is as real as you or I."

It seemed she had to be satisfied with that.

They continued to eat, mostly in silence, but she could feel the looks he snuck at her from time to time. It was difficult to read his expression, though. (And not just because he was seated on the other side of the table.) Was he curious? Just as awkward and tongue-tied as her? Or had he simply filled his conversation quota and now he hoped she would not disturb him again?

She bit her lip. No, for all that their time together had been brief, he did not seem the aloof type. He'd been gentle last night, and he'd bothered to collect her for breakfast so she didn't get lost …

Maybe the mountain didn't have to be so difficult to scale.

"Can … can I ask you something?" she dared to ask.

He placed his spoon down and gave her his full attention. "Yes, of course."

"Why did you choose me?"

A veil passed over his expression. "You were the ones who called upon me."

His tone was guarded, but the fact he was trying to put this back on her and the kingdom had her prickling up like a porcupine. No way could she take that sitting down.

"To spare my people, yes," she said with a bite of heat. "Why wouldn't we plea for mercy when you were going to destroy us?"

"Just what are you trying to say?"

"You tell me."

They stared at each other for a tense moment.

"Your kingdom was on numbered days," he said finally. "You know this."

"Because you decided it."

"I do not decide fate, human."

It was like a slap to the face. He had never called her human, not in that tone.

His shoulders hunched and he looked the other way, almost as if he regretted snapping at her. "I … it's not as simple as you think, being a god. I don't make the rules."

"But you can bend them enough to get a wife?"

He tensed even more.

"How many other wives have you had thanks to these little agreements of yours? Surely I can't be the first."

"You are," he said softly, still not looking at her.

"What?"

"You are the first."

She blinked.

He stood up, his gaze skittering to hers and then off to the side again. "I'm sorry. I see now it was a mistake to think we could share a meal together. I have already asked too much of you. I'll leave you now."

"Wait."

But he didn't listen. The door clicked shut and she found herself alone in the dining hall, sitting at a table big enough for thirty people. Nothing disturbed the silence.

She bit her lip.

Is this what he lived with every day? The empty chairs, the empty rooms? Every waking hour accompanied only by the sound of his own footsteps and breathing?

Something plummeted in her stomach. She went back to eating her food, even though it tasted like nothing in her mouth now. Maybe there was no need to ask why he had chosen her. Maybe she'd already got her answer.