Part of Your World (Twisted Tales)(58)

Eventually a serving boy came in and cleared the bowls; they clattered against each other loudly in the vast room.

The next course was a magnificent chilled seafood salad on three tiers of silver dishes mounded with ice. Glittering diamonds of aspic decorated the rims.

Eric picked up a tiny three-pronged golden seafood fork, thinking about the trident in Ariel’s hair. She hadn’t worn it years ago, when they had first met. Maybe it was a sign of royalty.

“Don’t suppose your feeling good has anything to do with a pretty little mermaid, does it?” Vanessa asked casually.

Eric froze.

Vanessa smiled coyly down at her plate.

“Why, yes, as a matter of fact, it does,” he said as he speared a tiny pickled minnow and delicately eased it into his mouth.

It was extremely gratifying to see Vanessa’s eyes grow huge in childlike surprise.

“Yes, I definitely started feeling good when I managed to get Sarai to hit the high F over C in her final aria, ‘The Goodbye.’ Like this.”

And then the Mad Prince sang in a terrible falsetto.

Vanessa just sat and watched, unblinking. Through all seven minutes. No doubt people in the kitchens were listening in fascinated horror as well.

When he finished, Eric took a few pickled bladderwracks in his fingers and popped their air bladders thoughtfully. “It was a real triumph. Now I just need to get her to do it onstage.”

Vanessa narrowed her eyes.

He tried not to grin as he ate the seaweed. The princess slowly pulled out a piece of fish and cut it, thoroughly and assiduously.

A different serving boy came out with a basket of steaming hot bread and, in the Gaulic fashion, little tubs of sweet butter. Eric preferred olive oil, but along with all the other terrible things going on in the castle, Vanessa had embraced Gaulic culture with the tacky enthusiasm of a true nouveau riche.

“I do so love baguettes, my dear, sweet, Mad Prince. Don’t you?” she said with a sigh, picking up a piece and buttering it carefully. “You know, we don’t have them where I come from.”

“Really? Where you come from? What country on Earth doesn’t have some form of bread? Tell me. Please, I’d like to know.”

“Well, we don’t have a grand tradition of baking, in general,” she said, opening her mouth wider and wider. Then, all the while looking directly at Eric, she carefully pushed the entire slice in. She chewed, forcefully, largely, and expressively. He could see whole lumps of bread being pushed around her mouth and up against her cheeks.

The prince threw his own baguette back down on the plate in disgust.

She grinned, mouth still working.

“Your appetite is healthy, despite your cold,” he growled. “Healthy for a longshoreman. Where do you put it all? You never—seem—to—gain—a—pound.”

“Running the castle keeps one trim,” she answered modestly. “Military planning, offensive strategies, tactics, giving orders, keeping our little kingdom safe, you know. We could be attacked any time. From the land…from the sea…”

“Actually, Tirulia’s biggest problems are with those who leave the sea and come here to live….Hey, maybe I should write an opera about that.”

He gave her a bright smile.

“You’re so very clever,” Vanessa said softly. “Such a clever little musician. With your clever little operas. You’re giving everyone a free show at the end of the month, aren’t you? One wonders if you would even have time to devote yourself to the kingdom or anything military—even if you had an interest in it.”

“No interest whatsoever. I’m just the Mad Prince, that’s all. Don’t mind me,” Eric said, saluting her with the butter knife. “Carry on with your little war games. It does seem to keep you occupied.”

“I will, then, thank you,” the princess said primly. “By the way, I have orders out to kill Ariel on sight if she shows up on castle grounds again, you know. Not just her father.”

Eric choked.

When he recovered Vanessa was smiling at him venomously.

Eric worked his jaw, trying to quell the rage that would have him across the room and throttling her if he didn’t stop it.

When the immediate anger subsided he felt a terrible emptiness, a sick, sinking feeling that drained his whole body. He sat back in his chair, feeling defeated.

“Do you really have tentacles?” he asked flatly.

“Yes,” she said wistfully, through her full mouth. “Really nice ones, too. Long and black. I miss them.”

The serving boy came in and pretended not to notice the exasperated, obviously not eating prince, and the princess who had to keep chewing ponderously because of the amount of food she still had in her cheek pockets. Off a silver platter the boy took two paper cones—Bretland style, of course—filled with perfectly deep-fried baby squid gleaming in a crispy golden batter. After carefully setting one down in front of each of them, the boy immediately withdrew, trying not to look over his shoulder. The mood in the room was palpably icy.

Vanessa looked at the cone with delight, and the moment she swallowed the bread—another large, loud, disgusting gesture that showed the bolus going down her throat in an Adam’s apple-y lump—she picked up a squid with her fingers and popped it into her mouth.

“How can you do that?” Eric burst out, unable to contain himself.