INSIDE THE ROYAL PALACE, PRIVATE DINING ROOM
THREE DAYS LATER
ZAVIER
I was beginning to suspect the palace itself wanted me dead. Not dramatically, not politically, pysically. Because every single day since the wedding something had happened. First the ceremony, then the bonding, then the emotional devastation, then the fainting, then my mother planning grandchildren like she was preparing military strategy and now breakfast which should have been safe. I stared suspiciously at the plate in front of me.
"This omelet feels dangerous."I said.
"It is eggs."Adam looked up from his tea calmly.
"That sounds exactly like something dangerous pretending to be harmless."I said.
"You are still weak."Adam said.
"I am emotionally offended by that statement."I said.
"You fainted into a chair yesterday."Adam said.
"The chair was positioned aggressively."I said.
"The chair was stationary."Adam said.
"I reject the chair propaganda."I sighed.
