“You’re late,” said the King, and he turned to face them.
Azalea felt a jolt.
Months had passed since she had seen him, face-to-face. His light hair and close-trimmed beard had streaks of white, and the lines in his face seemed deeper. Even so, he stood tall, sturdy, so much like the kings she read about in history books. None of the girls moved.
“Go on, sit down,” said the King. “It won’t do, half past eight! It is out of order. The bread is nearly cold.”
Still the girls did not move. Bramble’s lips were pursed so tightly they became a thin, razor-sharp line. Azalea held Lily so hard she whined. Azalea’s arms shook, too. Partly from nervousness, but more from the searing boiling sensation that flamed within her.
“We apologize for being late.” Azalea’s voice came out smooth and cool. She gained courage from this. “Your ship arrived last night?”
“Just so,” said the King. He sat down at the head of the table, and motioned for the girls to sit. “I didn’t think mush would suit today. Come along.” He took a cinnamon-swirled loaf from the table, and began to break it into pieces in a bowl. He did this with some difficulty, because of his bandaged hand.
“It l-looks like it hurts,” Clover whispered, leaning in to Azalea.
Bramble leaned in on her other side. “What do you think happened?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” Azalea whispered back.
“M-maybe we should—should ask—”
“No,” Delphinium whispered from behind. “If he won’t tell us, then we don’t want to know.”
“But—”
The King frowned at them, gathered about the glass doors, the psss pssss psss of their whispered conversation making the frown more stern. He set the loaf down.
“If you are inclined to speak,” he said, “you may speak aloud. We have rules in this household—”
“What happened to your hand, sir?” said Azalea.
The whispering hushed. The King’s two unbandaged fingers tapped against the loaf. He hesitated, then spoke.
“It was cut on the side of a bayonet.”
The girls gasped. Azalea gripped Lily.
“Oh,” she said, flustered. The girls drew together, pss psss pssss, while Hollyhock whispered fervently, “What is a bayonet? Someone tell me what a bayonet is!”
“Has Sir John seen to it?” said Azalea.
“It is fine,” said the King. “Come in and sit down, at once. I won’t have you standing about.”
The girls looked to Azalea, and she gave a short nod. Normally they seized upon the chairs like starving orphans. Now, however, they seated themselves quietly at the end of the table.
The King frowned at this arrangement. None of the seats next to him had been taken.
“Where are the twins?” he said.
“A little behind,” said Azalea, handing Lily to Clover. “They’ll be here in a moment.”
The King sucked in his cheeks. Azalea could see it was taking him great effort to keep from a lengthy lecture.
“Very well,” he said at last. “We shall wait for them before we begin. But as of tomorrow, this tardiness will not be acceptable. Mr. Pudding informs me that you have been arriving to breakfast and lessons at half past nine! Half past nine, Miss Azalea! He tells me you retire at the proper time in the evening, and yet—What is to be said for it?”
Azalea clenched her hands beneath the table, her nails digging into her palms.
“Time is a bit hard to keep without the tower,” she said in a calm voice.
“Then you may ask the hour of me, any time you like. I have a watch.”
“Oh, marvelous,” Bramble muttered. “Just what I want to do, boff off to the King every time I need the minute.”
Azalea gave her a warning look. The King sucked in his cheeks, paused…and changed the subject.
“Miss Ivy,” he said. “What do you have in your hands?”
Ivy, who sat next to Azalea, looked up from her lap to the King, to Azalea, to the King, then back to the object in her pudgy hands. It was a partially devoured loaf of bread. She didn’t say anything because her mouth was stuffed full. Her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, let her eat it,” said Azalea, putting her arm around Ivy before the King had a chance to say anything. “It’s her favorite food.”
“There are rules in this household,” said the King, though not unkindly. “We have meals as a family.”
And here, just as the King said it, the temper that Azalea had skillfully pushed and smothered flared into a horrible, hot beast. Even her eyes grew hot.
“Of course,” said Azalea. “You would know a lot about that rule, naturally.” She adjusted the spoon next to her bowl. It clattered against the table. “If it is just the same to you, sir, I should like very much to have this meal in our room.”
Everything stopped then; Eve’s feet scuffing against the floor, Hollyhock tugging on the tablecloth, Clover smoothing Lily’s dark curls—all froze. They stared at Azalea with wide eyes.
The King’s expression darkened. Frowning, his eyes fell over the holiday spread, then to the girls. He did not seem to like the turn this breakfast was taking.
“Very well,” he said. “As you wish. You might as well take tea and dinner in your room as well, as you seem so inclined to it.”
“Excellent,” said Azalea crisply. An angry, absolutely euphoric sensation burned through her. “I would rather like to spend the entire next week with meals in our room.”