Page 8 of Even Angels fall
I cast a glance at Ariël, but nothing can be read on his face.
He might be nice to me when Michaël isn’t there, but he’s a coward, much like I am, because he would never, ever say something that would get him punished.
And looking at me with compassion or even pity would be already too much.
Ariël isn’t Michaël’s flesh and blood, and no one can forget what he did to me.
I’m still halfway between the ground and standing and I don’t really know what he’s waiting to say.
“Good.”
What?
He can’t mean for me to stay at table level without a seat, right?
When his smile stays smug, I realize he meant exactly that. I’m supposed to act as if the chair was there and sit on nothing.
”Ariël, I need a report on Angélique’s progress. Is she ready?” he asks, as if he hadn’t been discussing exactly that before I arrived.
I recognize the question for what it is. He’s stalling.
He wants me to be in pain, or at least very uncomfortable, by the time we eat and my etiquette lesson starts.
“She is, my lord,” Ariël answers, and I can’t miss the touch of pride in his voice.
It almost makes me smile, but instead, I zone out as he explains that we’ve covered cutlery, body positions at dinner or during parties, and my acceptable behavior anywhere and anytime. I particularly zone out when Ariël talks about bedside manners.
My hypothetical sex life and my father shouldn’t be in the same conversation. It’s not right.
I keep my breathing slow, my back ramrod straight and my forearms on the table—but not too far on the table, elbows aren’tauthorized on a table in France—on each side of the cutlery, as I’ve been taught.
I should be listening, but I know everything that Ariël is talking about—I’m the test subject, after all—so I let my mind wander.
I wish I could be anywhere else.
Not that I’ve been anywhere else.
I was born in Versailles and have only ever seen the gilded palace and its wonderful gardens.
I know there is more to visit, even just in the vicinity. Paris used to be the capital of France. It used to be the capital of love. I’ve seen movies and documentaries. It used to be lovely and it probably still is, but I’ve never seen anything else than my gilded cage.
And I’m not really kidding. Versailles’ palace literally has gilded fences made of bars. They’re adorned with suns, in honor of a French king who lived about a thousand years ago, and I can’t deny that it looks grand, but when you’re stuck behind bars, it still feels like a prison, especially when you have the kind of special treatment I have.
4
Angélique
“Four.”
The word feels like a slap.
I haven’t said a single word since I entered the room, and yet Michaël found a way to consider me impertinent or think I’m lacking.
I cast a glance in my father’s direction, my eyes catching the pained look on Ariël’s face, just to be greeted by glacial eyes that seem to be waiting on something.
Did he ask something, and I missed it?
I was so focused on escaping Versailles, and I don’t know, maybe seeing the sea, that I forgot where I was and with whom.
