The Winged Servant - 14
content warnings: unhealthy ideas about food (I'll put a more detailed warning about this in the comments but I don't want to spoil stuff here), brief discussion of religion, mention of death, begging
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“Here you go, bud.”
I stared at the plate in front of me. It was ceramic. Less detailed than what we’d had at the house, but breakable all the same. I would have to be careful, then, but I knew how to do that. The crepe itself was a different story.
“Thank you, sir,” I said anyway, beginning to scissor a piece off with my fork. Crepes were meant to be eaten with hands, I remembered, but that wasn’t how a servant was supposed to act. Not in front of other people. Really, servants weren’t supposed to eat at all in front of other people if it could be helped, but exceptions could be made when food was handed right to me.
Dubhe sat down on my left, a bowl of fruit in front of him. There was mango in it. There was mango in my crepe, too, if Dubhe had really put everything he’d said he would. Prince Ryan didn’t let me eat mangos when he could help it. They made my cheeks red, my lips puffy, and my throat itch, but they weren’t so bad that I could refuse them. Not by a long shot. I’d have to eat egregious amounts before I was in any real danger, so I took a small bite of the crepe.
That was- shit, that was good. It wasn’t the strawberry jam that I was used to, but the combination of flavors more than made up for it. The mangoes that I was not supposed to eat practically melted on my tongue. Or maybe it just felt that way because of the gnawing feeling in my stomach, because of the tiny portion of dinner I’d received the night before.
“I’m assuming you don’t know much about who I am,” Dubhe said from his spot next to me, reminding me that he was there. I dragged my fork back and forth as I swallowed.
“His Highness Prince Ryan talked about you last night. When we were on our way to your room.”
“Yeah? What did he tell you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I shrugged. “He said that he is more fit to run a country than you, sir. He is more fit to run a country than most people.”
“Because of his qualifications?”
“Because the Rao family has held the crown for sixteen generations. Sir. That is all the qualification they need.”
“I don’t think-” He hesitated. “Okay. Let’s take this in a new direction, actually. What’s the point of having royalty?”
The point? What was the fucking point? Did it matter? I was a servant. I wasn’t supposed to understand things like this. The point of having a ruler was for them to rule. And that’s what the Rao family did, which meant that they could not have been unfit for it.
“Um,” I said slowly. “The point of having royalty is to make things easier for people who aren’t royalty, right, sir? Like… they make decisions about important things that other people don’t understand. They protect their subjects.”
“Yes,” he agreed, and I sighed in relief, cutting another bite of my crepe off with the dull edge of my fork. It would take longer this way than with a knife or my teeth. It would give him a longer time to have this conversation in an environment where eye contact was not expected. I wondered if he’d noticed me staring at the tablecloth while he’d asked me questions with Blue. I would have to be less obvious next time.
“Yes,” he repeated, “they are supposed to make things easier. And if every citizen gets together and decides that the royalty is making things harder, why shouldn’t they pick new royalty?”
“Because that would make them traitors, sir.” That was an easier question. I knew the answer just fine for that. I took another bite of my crepe.
“Not if they succeed. If they manage to overthrow the previous royals, and put new ones in and adjust the laws, it’s no longer treason.”
“Treason is illegal whether or not you’re punished for it, sir,” I said, covering my mouth while I chewed. It had been a long time since I had eaten in front of anyone except Jayden, but I couldn’t let my manners slip now. “Even if you’re the only one who knows about it, you aren’t supposed to think treasonous things.”
“Hm.” I did not turn my head to look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me. These were different questions than he’d asked with Blue. Those had been about me. These were… philosophical, maybe, or a test of some kind. “I am the current king of Sathenn. DId you know that?”
I stared at the table. I was supposed to behave. Prince Ryan had told me to behave. But Dubhe was wrong.
“Do you have an objection to that?” he asked.
I stared intently at the crepe. “... No, sir.”
“Right. You’re supposed to listen to people. I keep forgetting, sorry. If a… a well-meaning subject who was loyal to the crown had an objection… what would that objection sound like?”
“Um. Well. Sir. The royal family has the divine right to their power.”
“Divine right?” he repeated, and he almost sounded like he was holding in a laugh.
“It’s, um, a theory from hundreds of years ago, sir. Monarchies are passed through families because their bloodlines are superior.”
“I’m familiar with the concept. The most recently I’d heard, the Raos aren’t religious, though, so I’m surprised that they taught it to you. The word divine in that phrase implies that their right to rule was given to them by some sort of god.”
I frowned. I supposed that technically, Dubhe was right. I hadn’t thought about that before—or rather, I hadn’t been told. I wasn’t supposed to think through it the way he was doing, I was just supposed to listen to what I was told.
“It’s not about a god, sir,” I said eventually. “Divinity is not just from religion. The first Rao royal brought back the stars. They are the reason any of the kingdoms are able to exist at all.”
“Brought back the stars, yes, because they were one of the most brilliant scientists we’ve ever seen. But there are plenty of brilliant scientists we haven’t seen.” He took another bite of his fruit, giving me a few moments to wonder what the hell he meant before he continued.
“I used to know a person who was accepted to college at the age of fourteen, but xe died before xe could graduate because Lucia had xem killed. Xe could have been brilliant, too, if xe’d been given a chance to become that. Instead of giving xem that chance, Lucia nipped it in the bud. The first Rao may have brought back the stars, but fast forward a couple centuries, and Lucia was pulling shit like making it illegal for angels to fly at playgrounds without something attaching them to the ground. When the royalty does not serve the subjects, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with starting over.”
I swallowed another bite. My tongue was starting to feel awkward in my mouth. That was fine. It would swell a bit and probably get itchy, but it would not put me in actual danger, so it was fine. It wasn’t lethal. It didn’t even affect my breathing. It was fine.
I did not see the issue with what Dubhe had clearly listed as a failing of the queen. She knew better than I did what was safe at a playground. She knew better than any subjects what was safe at a playground. That was the problem with subjects deciding that their country was in need of new royalty. If the Raos truly had been unfit to rule, that was up to the Raos to decide. Not the subjects.
“It’s not technically illegal to be loyal to them,” Dubhe said when I didn’t respond. “Legally, you are free to have that opinion, as long as you don't try harassing people who don’t or something. But it’s ignorant at best to pretend that they did not hurt people while they ruled.”
“Their job isn’t to help people or hurt people, sir. It’s to rule, and to make decisions that no one else does. That’s what they did.”
“I guess.” He shrugged, taking a bite of his fruit. “They could’ve ruled much better than they did, though.”
I did not look at him as I mumbled, “Yes, sir.” He started staring at my face anyway.
“Is your… mouth swelling, Onyx?”
“Yes, sir. As is the usual result of me eating mangos.”
He grabbed my hand on its way to lift my fork to my mouth. “Please tell me you’re not allergic to mangos.”
I blinked like a deer caught in headlights, glancing between my crepe and Dubhe's face. “I’m… not… allergic? Sir?”
“Please tell me the honest truth about whether or not you’re allergic to mangos,” he amended, and I nodded. His mouth set in a tight line. “I asked you if you had dietary restrictions. Why didn’t you say anything?”
How was I supposed to know this is what he’d meant? “My apologies, sir. I thought… um, my mango allergy is included in the list of foods that the royal family did not allow me to have. I was under the impression that you did not care to know what they did not give me.”
“Well, yeah, but-” He released my hand, running his own hands through his braids and tugging on the ends. “I mean, I asked if there were foods you couldn’t eat. You said you could eat whatever I saw fit.”
“And if you saw fit to give me food I was allergic to, sir, I could eat it. I am grateful for any food I receive.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he hissed.
My eyes traced the grain in the table to avoid looking at him. “My apologies, sir. I did not mean to misinterpret your command.” Would Dubhe punish me? Was he allowed to, out in public, in the middle of the day? Prince Ryan wouldn’t have tolerated it. Prince Ryan was in jail at Dubhe's order.
“How allergic are you? Are you risking your breathing ability when you eat mangos? Are- are you risking your life?”
“No, sir. I’m only mildly allergic. Previously, it hasn’t resulted in any more than mild swelling and itching.”
“I don’t have angel medicine,” he said through gritted teeth.
I was frustrating him, I knew, but I didn’t know how to respond to his questions. I knew how to respond to things Prince Cardan said, or Prince Ryan, or Her Majesty, but I did not know Dubhe. I did not know what he wanted from me.
“My apologies, sir,” I said again. He shook his head sharply.
“It’s fine! It’s fine. I’m glad that your allergy isn’t worse than it is.”
His shoulders were tense, and when I glanced at him, he was glaring at the table too. It was not fine. I had messed up, and I hadn’t even said all the things I was supposed to say. “My sincerest apologies for not informing you of the allergy when you wanted me to, sir. It won’t happen again, and I would be grateful if you would punish me to help me remember.”
Dubhe turned his glare toward me. I flinched back. How had I forgotten already how disapproving he had been when hearing about my punishments? Of course this was not what he wanted me to say. What was I supposed to say? I could fix this. I could still fix this, couldn’t I?
He started talking before I could, reaching out and taking my plate.
“I am,” he said, and his voice broke, so he cleared his throat and started over. “I’m going to take this back to the kitchen. Stay here until I return, please.”
I stared at him in horror as he stood up with the crepe. The royal family did not permit me to beg, didn’t permit me to want things enough to beg, but this was not the royal family. And it wasn’t want that I felt as he took my plate—it was plain old hunger. I had slept for maybe four hours the night before. I had been tired and hungry before, but the royal family was careful. Prince Ryan paid attention to my body’s limits. If I continued to be deprived of both sleep and food, I would collapse soon, and then I wouldn’t be useful to anyone at all.
“Please,” I blurted out when Dubhe began to walk away. “Please, I- my apologies, sir, but I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful. I can eat it.”
“Onyx, I’m not going to force you to eat something you’re allergic to.”
“But you could, sir,” I insisted. My heart was racing, and I knew my words were too fast, not making sense, but I needed the crepe back. “You wouldn’t even have to force me. I appreciate you going out of your way to have breakfast made for me, and the mango really isn’t that bad, and-”
“Onyx.”
“Please, sir,” I repeated, trying not to cry. Her Majesty hated when I did that, when I tried to make other people feel guilty about my own body’s failings, but I couldn’t quite get rid of the pinch behind my eyes. It worsened and twisted until it turned into a familiar wetness building up behind my eyes. I couldn’t cry now, not if I wanted to convince him I deserved the crepe. “Please. I didn’t even eat half of it. I’m so hungry.”
Dubhe stared at me for a long moment, eventually bringing his free hand to rest on my shoulder. I held as still as I could. It was okay if he punished me. I had broken so many rules in the past few hours, he had every right to correct me, but all he did was gently squeeze my shoulder.
“You’re going to eat breakfast,” he told me softly. “I am taking your crepe back to the kitchen, and I’m having them make a different one without mango for you. Okay? I’m sorry that I wasn’t clear about that. I’m not going to punish you, and I’m not going to starve you. I know I seem frustrated right now. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”
A different one, he said. Without mango. For me.
He’d just apologized to me while he explained that he was making me a personalized breakfast. People weren’t supposed to apologize to me. People weren’t supposed to give things to me.
I stared up at him. I remembered what he had said about how royalty is supposed to help subjects, about how he was the king.
“Thank you, sir,” I whispered.
He nodded, and then he turned around and briskly walked back toward the kitchen.
~
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