Page 42 of Heir of the Beast

We are an hour out for the ten-course meal to start, and the headmaster is giving Hitler a run for his money. If our heads are slightly tilted the wrong way, we get our ankles whipped.

It’s a pain worse than stubbing your toe, and I thought that was impossible. Thought nothing was worse than stubbing your toe? Wrong. Ankle whips are worse, trust me on this.

The headmaster’s father oversees the male staff, and I am not kidding when I say he moves at the speed of smell. He must be over a hundred years old, for Pete’s sake.

My right eye twitches as I watch him pick up a fallen napkin off the marble floor.

This scene needs epic soundtrack music as his hand nears the napkin, heightening the dramatic tension that is sure to unfold.

The choir voices singing loud in the air as the climax approaches and tension rises to full capacity.

My eyes widen, bulge even when he snatches at it and misses it completely, producing a sheen of sweat on my forehead. He goes for another try and promptly side-steps to the left, off-balance.

Alas.

I bite my lip.

He comes in hot this time, but oversteps the cloth by a foot, making me hiss in frustration. What in the ever-loving-shit. Just grab it! Please. Please…

At this point, it’s almost worth an ankle whip to jump out of line and help the poor bastard. This madness needs to stop. I can’t take the stress anymore.

Lifeline activate! #jesustakethewheel.

A commotion to my left thankfully gains my attention. Dancers exit from the massive dining hall—finished with their exciting performance, no doubt.

I look wistfully at them, wishing I was a performer rather than a slave in an ugly black gown even a nun would deny. And this is our nice gown. I look like a pregnant penguin.

At least I was able to hang out with Destiny earlier, her being the head chef. She told me she had zero luck with Apollo, but she didn’t seem too worried about it.

I wondered why until I saw her with the tall butcher’s son Antangeo. He is handsome, but not on Apollo’s level, according to me.

I wonder if you can stay if you fall in love with someone else. I didn’t get to read the fine print, but that would be super cool.

Destiny comes out in total command, giving each one of us trays of mouthwatering food to serve. She looks like she is enjoying her situation.

But really, though, I can’t be completely ungrateful of my horrid position. I did have a hot make-out session with Apollo, so… maybe this slave thing is working for me.

The next thirty minutes are insane. I pass out so many dishes that I don’t have time to think or even to take in my surroundings. If I spill anything on anyone, the headmaster will open a gateway to hell and push me in.

Laughter is loud, the clinking of wine glasses rings in the air, and the performers blow fire from their mouths.

I glance up and notice that the massive seating hall is elevated, with an open space at the bottom where all the dancers and performers do their thing.

In the middle section, we have most of the House of Garthorn, with the House of Mont Gallow to the right and then Galleon to the left. Quite extravagant.

The low lighting makes all the crystal dinnerware sparkle and twinkle. The music is exotic, almost having an Egyptian/Middle Eastern feel.

The vaulted ceilings are magnificent—there is no other way to describe the twenty-story high masterpiece. Gold and silver were everywhere, from the walls to the decor, displaying the great wealth of the House of Garthorn.

It’s hard to spot people when you have to keep your head down, but I spy Cherie and Laura, and jealousy comes to life inside me.

They look like they’re having the time of their life, laughing and eating with royalty. Their evening gowns are gorgeous.

The only thing Pierce could do for me was blow out my long hair, a nice wax, and a moisturized body. You know, so if Apollo takes my bun out in a fit of passion, I will have fantastic hair. Eye roll.

As I carry the third course, I’m ushered to the middle toward Garthorn royalty. I bite my lip, not wanting to go this way and encounter Apollo.

I don’t know how to act now that he has kissed me. Does he think about it? A thrill shoots down my spine.

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