1 The Storyteller The dining table stretches in front of me, already stuffed to the brim with the night’s meal. Platters heaped with hedgehog meat pastries and cow tongues line the polished wood, interspersed with crystal bowls of little stuffed dormice and sleek boiled fish eggs. Each velvet seat is set with a gilded plate and six utensils that rest on top of an intricately folded cloth, creating a glimmering border around the spectacular pig that lounges in the center of the table, crowned with cranberries and dried citrus slices that accentuate the perfect chesnut of its shriveled flesh. My mouth waters as I anticipate sinking my teeth into every delicacy. A stream of nobles trails into the hall behind me, shuffling to their seats in silence. I am far beyond my depth, never having been raised with wealth, but I step into the manners of high society as if it were second nature. There is little time for small talk before the king arrives and we are seated. The king digs into a large helping of assorted delicacies and waves a hand without looking up from his plate, allowing the rest of us to begin. I can only stand the sound of chewing for so long, but thankfully my daughter– ever the perfect lady– speaks up. “Thank you all for serving this magnificent feast. I am truly honored to be marrying your son.” She snatches the prince’s hand as he reaches for a biscuit and threads her fingers through his. The queen looks up with a somewhat startled expression. “Ah, yes.” A pause. “Now, remind me how you met again?” she at last continues, poking at the meat in front of her. My daughter opens her mouth but I cut her off. “Allow me, Your Majesty.” A nod, and I dive in.
“Many years ago, more than I care to recount, I married the love of my life. A second wife, bringing with her a second child, a sister to the daughter my first wife had borne not even a year prior. For several years, we lived as a happy family, my daughter, Imogen, growing up inseparable from her sister, Catalina. Everything crumbled, however,