The King always had his meal alone in his study. But I couldn't stay in this kitchen any longer, couldn't keep standing here chopping vegetables while my mind replayed images of torture and death.
Marcus hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. The formal dining room is in the east wing, third floor. All the supplies are in the butler's pantry adjacent to it. Table settings for two, use the silver service, and make sure everything is polished to perfection. The King will have your head if there's so much as a fingerprint on the crystal." Marcus laughed as he said the words, but I couldn't bring myself to laugh with him.
The casual mention of the King having my head made my stomach clench, so I nodded and quickly removed my apron. My hands were still shaking as I left the kitchen, the cut on my finger throbbing beneath its makeshift bandage.
