Neither were pleasant to me. Baron in particular had scared me when I was younger at how his brooding, angry presence lingered behind my father's shoulder.
At the other end of the table, I stood with my palms cupped around my elbows. The silent air thickened and my pulse buzzed in my ears. The weight of the room's eyes pricked goosebumps on the back of my arm, an uncomfortable sensation like I'd been plunged in ice water.
My eyes shifted from Baron's sneering expression to my father. As my eyes bore down at him, I was reminded how I had no idea how we were related. We looked nothing alike, and hopefully I didn't share his cold, distanced personality.
I'd never seen a single picture of my mother but assumed, through lack of any resemblance to my father, that I inherited her traits. His dark brown hair thinned with experience, and he wore it swept back, looking like he was in a permanent wind tunnel. His olive complexion competed with his dark, always brooding brown eyes. Eyes that took in every detail that surrounded him, including silent intentions, but hid every secret from me. They never wavered, never faltered, never revealed his true emotions or intentions.
"Zira Accalia Viakios," he spoke in his typical stern, condescending, angry tone. He never used any other tone with me and yet, like every time, it grated on my ears like auditory sandpaper.
"You. Are. Late." His voice snapped like a bear trap clamped down onto its snared target. His elbows rested on the table and he peered at me with unwavering eyes, demanding an explanation.
Dryness choked my voice into a strained whisper. "I'm sorry, Sir. You're early."
"You need to pay more attention. Seconds matter in life, Zira." The girl next to my father flinched at the harshness that echoed across the large, empty room.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. He did this often, speaking without context.
The expectation lacing his voice cut into my ears. "I trust your training is going well."
I nodded silently, although again I had no idea what context, whether he asked about my lessons or training.
"Good." His curt tone sliced through the air, chilling my skin. "Sit."
I took the seat on the end of the table farthest away and looked down at them. My eyes drifted over to the girl on his left, who stayed slumped forward with her eyes averted down.
"Anna." His eyes shifted to his right. "Has she bled?"
Did he..
My jaw slacked and my lips stayed closed by how tight I rolled them inward.
Is he talking about my period?
My eyes stretched wide and warmth flooded into my cheeks as Anna shook her head. The brown-haired girl rounded her spine and shoulders, curling inward. Not the conversation I expected. I sat upright in my chair, my hips squirming against the hard wooden seat.
I was quite aware that I was a late bloomer, almost eighteen, and so far, no menstrual cycles.
Maybe I'm infertile.
The thought was oddly comforting, since I had no desire to have kids. The list of what needed to happen before I considered that further in-depth was staggering. Surrounded by men my entire life, all were off limits since I was off limits.
Eighteen... never been kissed, touched, hugged, heck, even looked at with any intention.
I'm pathetic.
"Leuprorelin has a fourteen-day half-life. She won't be eighteen for eleven more weeks," Anna replied, her gray eyes fixated on me. "But she should begin to bleed within two to four weeks."
Why are they referring to my period like it's a television to be flipped on?
I squirmed again in my hard, wooden seat as their casualness raised the hairs on the back of my neck. With one palm pressed into my cheek, I knew my entire face and neck had reached 'red blotchy stage', a swollen, pink rash that broke out on my face and chest whenever I was embarrassed.
Can't get worse than this.
The brown-haired girl dropped her eyes and I swear a slight flush of pink tinted her cheeks.
"Once she does, put her on the pill. We must stay on schedule."
My eyes traveled between the three of them and my lips parted until dryness coated my tongue.
Did I hear that correctly?
My mouth gaped as the words "the pill" sunk in. The arranged marriage conspiracy swirled in my thoughts like one of my blonde hairballs clogging my shower drain.
Finally, my father acknowledged my presence again. "Zira, starting tomorrow your schedule will change. Your physical activities will involve more advanced training, while your academics will shift. You're quite ignorant in the areas that matter most, though I assume the blame for that."
Guess that's as close to kind as he gets.
He paused, his narrow eyes observing me as if he waited for a reaction. I didn't have one. All thoughts in my mind were frozen in shock. My father's cold insults usually rendered me speechless, but this topic took the reproductive system cake.
"Elena here." He pointed at the unknown girl. "Will be your mentor."
The loud slam as his fist pounded onto the table shook my shoulders, and the subsequent echoes radiated like the room shuddered. After a second of silence, I swear eight or nine security guys in suits emerged out of the shadows like a scene in a horrible action-suspense movie.
"After my daughter starts bleeding.." I wanted to crawl under the table. "..then her transformation confirmation ceremony will be held."
Transformation? Confirmation? For what?
My father raised a dismissive palm. "Zira, you are dismissed."
Inaudible squeaks wrapped around my words. "But I have so many.."
"Dismissed."
A guard's fingers tapped me on the shoulder, pulled my chair out from the table, and escorted me back to my bedroom. My eyes caught the curious glance from the girl's brown eyes right before I turned and left the dining room.
The clicks of my heels down the hardwood floors deafened my ears. My brain, incapable of processing the most confusing, one-sided conversation my father pitched at me to date, repeated it over and over in my mind. Each iteration offered no further answers than the one before.
Once back inside my room, I sat down on the edge of my bed. My stupid flowered skirt puffed out on either side of me like a fluffy pillow, and I placed my hands in my lap.
"...questions."
Irritation crept into my mind, which burned with similar and additional unanswered questions.
What the hell happened?
Transformation? Birth control? Confirmation?
What should my street cred name be?