Dragons And Their Little Mate

Lady Meryl Hanover was standing at the entrance of the dining room, waiting for the guards to open the doors. The recently polished, mahogany doors smelled rich and daunting. Her breath was lodged in her throat. No sooner had the doors opened and she stepped through the doorway that her instinct screamed at her to retreat. 

No, it wasn’t because the room was filled with guests. Neither did the grand decorations of the room daunt her. The maroon velvet fabric did give the banquet hall a gothic charm, the rows of chandeliers hung overhead, carrying thousands of candles. At the center of the long table was a ridiculous spread of food and silverware. The light filtering from the stained glass windows gave the room an eerie feeling. In the center was a long table with a ridiculous spread of food and silverware. 

The rich aroma of food wafted to her, filling her head. But instead of making her salivate, it caused her stomach to churn and jaw to clench. The real reason for it was the sight of her stepmother, Lady Judith Hanover, who sat at the head of the table.  Wrapped in the glow of the flame of hearth behind her, she looked like she had infused new power and confidence.  The bouncing curls of her raven hair fell past her waist that seemed to curl up and down on their own volition. Her face was chalked with exaggerated powders and kohl. Even the orange chiffon tulle gown looked… obnoxious. How could she not be aware of how repulsive she looked? 

Judith stared at Meryl until  the other came to sit at her reserved seat at the far end of the table. Sitting down, she lowered her head and fiddled with her fingers.

She despised these lavish parties. People living beyond the castle walls--her people, didn’t have enough food to fill their stomach, they worked to their bones to pay the high taxes imposed on them by Meryl’s stepmother, and they lived in constant fear of her. 

Her stepsister, Lady Viola Hanover, sat next to her mother in a peach gown with a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination. The only similarity between the stepsisters was their gray eyes. Apart from this, they were as different as day and night. At twenty-one, Meryl’s head had thick, auburn hair, her frame smaller and her skin paler than the eighteen-year-old Viola. Viola’s appearance had an uncanny resemblance to her mother. 

Viola leaned forward, drawing closer to the man sitting across from her as she spoke, “Your Grace, I noticed that you explored the gardens on the north end of the castle despite the gloomy weather. Was it to your liking?” 

Lord Alex Cornwall glanced at Meryl from the corner of his eyes before speaking dryly, looked sideways towards Meryl and replied dryly, “I did explore the gardens with Lady Meryl, but I have to say, the company rendered the gardens too dull for my taste.”

Viola didn’t even bother hiding her laughter and people joined along. She looked at Meryl with derision. The distance between them did not dissipate the tension in the air. Meryl gripped the silk of her grown, creasing it slightly. She had long grown used to insults thrown at her in such large gatherings. Viola and Judith never left a chance to do so. But it still bothered her. 

“Perhaps you could take a stroll with me in the gardens tomorrow, Lord Alex,” purred Viola. “I would love to enjoy the same old gardens through your eyes. I am sure my company would change your pleasure at the viewing.” 

“Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder,” Meryl snapped. “The exemplary work of the gardeners should be appreciated rather than focusing on one’s company.” 

“Lady Meryl, I did attempt to find beauty… in the garden? Why are you so upset about that?” His snide remark left the girls at the table sniggering behind their palms and glancing sideways at her.

Before Meryl could utter another word, her stepmother cut her off, “Are you trying to insult our guests?” She lazily stirred the mushroom cream soup with spicy shellfish that the servants had just placed in front of all the guests. Her raven black eyes slanted to look at Meryl. 

Meryl noticed her stepmother’s movements and her heart skipped a beat. “I am not…” she whispered as she turned her gaze to stare at the bowl of soup placed in front of  her. Immediately, her face paled. 

The guests started eating, ignoring her completely. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” Judith asked calmly.

Lady Kent, who was sitting next to her, asked “Are you well, Meryl?”

Meryl could barely nod.

“Of course, yes. She is absolutely fine!” Viola retorted, rolling her eyes. “She is just her usual queer self,” her voice laced with disgust. Everyone around the table became quiet.

Judith ordered,, “Eat.” 

When Meryl still didn’t pick her spoon to eat it, Judith pounded the table with her fist and then shouted, “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of all these guests by not listening to me?” 

Meryl’s body shuddered and she swallowed her saliva. “You— you know I can’t e— eat this,” her voice was barely audible. 

“What did you say?” Judith asked with preternatural calm. 

In a last ditch effort, Meryl lifted her head and dared to stare back at her stepmother. “I am unable to eat this,” she cried.  

Judith’s eyes narrowed and the flames behind her blazed higher. “Stop contempting me in front of the gatherings, will you Meryl?”

“It has spicy shellfish in it, Mother,” said Meryl, her voice quivering. “And you know I am highly allergic to it.” 

“Halt your dramatics, and please eat it!” Judith ordered in a low, venoumous voice. 

“I won’t,” Meryl shook her head, as panic filled her chest. If she would eat it, she would—  

Judith raised an eyebrow. “You won’t? Really?” 

All the guests were nonplussed at this exchange of conversation, and some thought to intervene. But—

“Very well,” said Judith. “I can’t force you into eating it despite all the money I have spent in hosting this opulent party.” She placed the spoon down on the side plate. 

“I think, Lady Meryl is unwell,” Lady Kent interrupted, feeling pity for Meryl. “You should allow—” However, her mouth snapped shut and her eyes widened. She felt as if she was being gripped by a strong force all around her mind. She couldn’t utter a word. Her tongue felt swollen like a rock. All she could do was watch… Stunned, she watched Meryl, who had lifted the spoon, her face dazed, her eyes glassy, in a trance. She started eating it as if involuntarily and continued to eat. With every bite of the shellfish, her skin turned red. Hives erupted on her face, her neck, her hands and they spread beneath her dress. Her eyes swelled and lips became puffy. By the time she finished the soup, she was gasping for breath like fish out of water. 

Lady Kent watched the poor girl erupting like a blowfish. She stayed quiet hoping that Meryl would stop torturing herself, but the girl finished the last bite of the soup. By the end of it, there were sweat beads on her forehead.

“You can stop,” Judith ordered and Meryl stopped eating. 

The vise-like grip from Lady Kent’s mind vanished just like that. She looked at Meryl helplessly. 

With chest heaving and gasping for air, Meryl stood up. She turned to look away from the guests who must be thinking how hideous she looked. 

“Oh dear,” Judith clicked her tongue. “I think you were right that you are allergic to shellfish. You shouldn’t have eaten so much? You may go to your room,” she said in a soft voice. “The servants will do the extra job of cleaning up the mess.” She sighed and resumed eating. 

Meryl held the edges of the table feeling too dizzy and when she regained composure, she walked out of the dining room, her steps unsteady. 

“What happened to her?” asked Alex. “She looks horrible.” 

Viola chuckled and said, “Let her be, Lord Alex. She is going to be fine soon.” Then she looked at the guests who were still staring at Meryl. “My apologies. Meryl loves to insult my mother. Please don’t let her antics spoil your food.” 

Gradually, the guests resumed their chats over dinner as Meryl lay on the cold floor of her room, unconscious, her skin burning with high fever and still bursting with hives because she had a severe allergic reaction.