The genuine smile slipped from Indenuel’s face as he tried not to give one of panic. He forgot the person with the highest authority would give the prayer over the evening meal. That person being him. Always him. The room settled as the words of the rote prayer disappeared from his memory.

He got up from his chair, the one right next to the King at a table of high honor with Tolomon on the other side of him. Indenuel clasped his hands together and bowed his head. The King and Queen bowed their heads as they held each other’s hands.

Indenuel cleared his throat, wrestling with his nerves to calm enough so he could remember the prayer, the one he’d heard or said his entire life. The banquet hall was quiet as he opened his mouth. Evening meal prayer. It delt with food. Food.

“We give thanks to God for this food,” Indenuel said, trying hard to make his voice sound steady and sure, making it louder toward the end because he forgot how big this banquet hall was. His mind struggled to give him the next part. “May it give us strength to prepare for the Savior’s coming…” There was one more sentence. His mind began to panic. It was there, just beyond his reach. This couldn’t be nearly as bad as Tolomon throwing up on someone, but it certainly felt like it. What was next -- service! “And may we always be in service of Thee.” Indenuel said it fast, before promptly sitting down.

“God be with us!” everyone said at the end.

Tolomon smirked. “Forgot the prayer?”

“Was it noticeable?”

His smile widened in reply. A bowl of soup was placed in front of Indenuel and Tolomon took out a spoon and tasted it before anyone even noticed. He gave a quick nod of approval as the room waited for Indenuel to take the first bite. Well, second bite.

Usually Indenuel would slurp it down, but he picked up his spoon, remembering his manners. He took his first bite, and his eyes widened. The spices and seasonings played across his tongue as the meat fell apart in his mouth. He never imagined soup to be anything else besides a way to fill one’s belly.

“This soup is incredible!” Indenuel didn’t mean to say it so loudly. The room erupted in laughter, and his cheeks reddened. He doubted anyone would have heard if the room was noisy and boisterous, but everyone waited in anticipation for him to eat his first bite. King Ramiro gave a loud, jolly laugh.

“Compliments to our staff indeed!” King Ramiro’s voice traveled through the room, and everyone began eating.

Indenuel pushed his bowl closer to him as he hunched over with an embarrassed smile. A servant poured some wine in his glass. He thanked him before Tolomon took it and poured a tiny portion in his own empty glass before he drank it and nodded. Indenuel tried to slow down, he knew this was part of being in the high social class, but the soup was so delicious. He could not stop eating it. The spiced carrots were incredible, the potatoes kept their firmness instead of turning to instant mush, and the meat! He’d never tasted such delicious meat before!

“How can you differentiate between the spices and poison?” Indenuel asked Tolomon, trying to force himself to slow down by having a conversation.

“Lots of trial and error.”

He shoveled more soup in his mouth before swallowing. “Poisons are a dangerous thing to make an error with.”

“It’s fine with a healthy dose of antidotes nearby.”

The conversation didn’t work. He scraped the bottom of the bowl before Tolomon had taken four more bites.

“That was an incredible dinner. I quite enjoyed it,” Indenuel said.

King Ramiro smiled in his direction. “That was the first course.”

He turned, a small frown on his face. “First… course?”

“There’s four courses total. A number to honor the High Elders,” King Ramiro said.

“Three more dishes of food are coming your way,” Tolomon said.

Indenuel didn’t know why they didn’t bring them all out at once, but if the courses were as delicious as the soup, he was ready.

Queen Lisabeth asked King Ramiro a question, and they began to talk. A servant took Indenuel’s bowl away. It gave him time to study the guests all eating and laughing. He spotted Martin right off, sitting next to a woman who looked positively beaming. This had to be his wife. It was clear by the way she looked at him.

Indenuel studied the other tables of the High Elders. It was full of their families. All the women had such beautiful elaborate dresses, so when he saw a number of the women at Navir’s table who had plain, simple dresses he couldn’t help but stare. Granted, they were still made of a beautiful silk, but there were no elaborate designs, just a simple, single color. At least fifteen of such women sat at Dalius and Cristoval’s table. And over thirty-five such women at Fadrique’s table.

“Who are those women at the High Elder’s tables?” Indenuel asked.

Tolomon set his glass of wine down. “The concubines of the High Elders.”

He froze, then turned his head to stare at Tolomon. “Concubines? As in…” Tolomon did not volunteer the answer. The answer was there, Indenuel just couldn’t wrap his mind around it. “Forgive me, but… what?”

“You haven’t heard of the concubine law?”

“No.” The tips of his fingers turned numb. “No, I haven’t.”

Tolomon glanced at the King, who was still busy conversing with the Queen before focusing on his meal again. “About a decade ago there was a new law instigated. The church’s funds for charity were running out, and poverty was rampant in the city. With the King and Queen’s blessing, the High Elders could marry those they deemed pure, therefore sharing the marital status of a High Elder and all the privileges that entails not only to them, but to their families.”

Indenuel still stared. “I’ve never heard of this law.”

Tolomon swallowed his soup. “And I’ve never heard of Mountain Pass. That’s probably why.”

Indenuel focused on the tables of the High Elders. He tried to keep the horror from his face. “Do they… the High Elders, they actually…”

“Yes,” Tolomon said.

His eyes fell on one of Fadrique’s concubines whose belly was swollen with pregnancy. All the soup he ate almost came back up. Indenuel stared at the wood of his own table, muscling it back down. How had he never heard of this?

Indenuel picked up his wine glass and drained the entire thing. A servant appeared out of nowhere and filled it again before Tolomon tested the wine. He drained the second glass. Tolomon raised an eyebrow in his direction as the servant filled it a third time, hesitating to see if Indenuel would drain this one too after Tolomon tested it. Indenuel reached for it, but Tolomon grabbed his wrist.

“Alright, alright. Easy on the wine. I don’t actually want you to vomit on anyone, in case I didn’t make myself clear.” Tolomon gave a polite smile toward the servant who bowed and left. He placed his fingers against Indenuel’s temple and the wine was subdued, not all of it heading straight for his brain.

Indenuel stared into the distance as this information settled. Tolomon dropped his hands and continued eating. Eating like he had an appetite.

This was disgusting. He couldn’t think of any other word to describe it. There were women younger than him at Fadrique and Dalius’ table. The concubines laughed and giggled amongst themselves. No one seemed as horrified by this. Maybe because they had a decade to get used to it.

“I don’t understand why anyone would…”

“Poverty has all but disappeared in the city,” Tolomon said, not looking at him. “In a time of war, to claim that is a blessing.”

The way Tolomon did not smile meant he couldn’t be completely supportive of this law. Indenuel again stared at Martin's table but couldn't see any concubines there.

“And Martin?”

“The only one who voted against this law, and the other High Elders agreed he wouldn’t have to follow it,” Tolomon said. “But he was recently given a concubine about a year and a half ago.”

The second course came. It was another soup, thicker this time. Indenuel didn’t know if he had the appetite for it. He waited for Tolomon to take his bite and gave a nod before he picked up his spoon. At least he was able to eat this much slower.

“Are you alright?” Tolomon asked.

“Just… give me a minute,” Indenuel said. He again looked at the High Elders tables before he forced himself to focus on his soup. The creamy potato soup was, of course, delicious, but he was distracted.

“And how’s this dish?” King Ramiro asked.

“Absolutely incredible,” he said, trying hard to make it as sincere as when he proclaimed it loudly to everyone else in the hall. “Your staff is truly a marvel.”

“Only the best for the Warrior,” King Ramiro said.

Indenuel’s smile was stiff. One of the members of the court came over to King Ramiro and Indenuel’s smile dropped. He, the Warrior, to help the High Elders conquer the world. For them to be its rulers.

“Indenuel?” Tolomon asked.

He’d been silent the entire second course. He had met the High Elders only yesterday, and he was starting to like them less.

“It’ll be fine. I-” Indenuel stopped talking. Martin’s concubine got up from the table. She turned, straightening her silk orange dress before moving toward the door to the left of Indenuel. He had never considered orange a flattering color, but… but she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He was familiar with the different shades of green eyes, and hers was the purest emerald. Her thick, dark brown hair was perfectly curled and bounced against her shoulders as she walked daintily toward the door. The dress covered her in the style he was beginning to realize was one for concubines. There was nothing at all revealing, as the skirt was all the way to the floor, the bodice all the way to the neck, with the sleeves covering her arms completely to the wrists. There was nothing sensual about it, yet somehow he could not stop staring at her. The woman lifted her skirts to show small white slippers wrapped around her delicate feet. She walked over to the door, her hips swaying, the skirt rippling. She turned to shut the door, and Indenuel caught another glance at those perfect emerald eyes, though they were pointed toward the floor.

The door closed and Indenuel blinked a few times to orient himself.

“Congratulations. Ogling another man’s concubine is worse than vomiting on my instructors’ shoes,” Tolomon said under his breath.

“I wasn’t ogling,” Indenuel said. Tolomon gave him a knowing look. He glanced down, realizing his soup had been replaced with the third course of chicken and mashed potatoes. “Did… did you-?”

“Already checked.”

His cheeks burned as he brought the plate closer to him. “What’s her name?”

“Inessa,” Tolomon said.

“And she’s…”

“Off limits.”

Indenuel gave Tolomon a soft glare. He knew that. He was more going to comment how Inessa was his age. There was no way she could be older than twenty, which meant she was younger than Adosina. Martin was sleeping with a girl younger than his own daughter. The idea made him squirm in his seat.

He dove into his potatoes, willing to give King Ramiro another hearty praise for the best potatoes he had ever tasted. Inessa came back, and he did everything possible to not look at her. Tolomon kept an eye on Indenuel as he took a drink. Indenuel’s shoulders slumped as his fork became slippery in his sweaty palms. He dared one last glance right as she was sitting down before again averting his eyes.

“I don’t get it. I traveled with Martin for a month, and he never mentioned her once. I even asked about his family multiple times.”

“He hates this law,” Tolomon whispered. “But not enough to overturn it. Having a sister or a daughter be a concubine can elevate your entire family’s status from poor to lower nobility, or middle class to the nobility.”

Indenuel’s fingers twitched. “So how did Inessa come to Martin?”

“She was in a poor town south of the city when she was chosen. It’s not often the High Elders choose women from towns, but it does happen. She started out as High Elder Dalius’ concubine, then High Elder Navir’s, then High Elder Fadrique’s, and now High Elder Martin’s.”

Indenuel felt lightheaded, almost tasting the potatoes a second time as they inched up his throat. “They pass their concubines around?”

“She cannot have children. She’s been to every healer in the city. They are hoping that having Martin the Healer be her husband, he can somehow fix her.” Indenuel hated this conversation. The idea of them trying to fix her, of getting her pregnant in the first place. “High Elder Martin has less than a year left to try. If she doesn’t get pregnant, she will go home disgraced and shunned by her community.”

“But why? Why should it matter whether she gets pregnant?” Indenuel asked.

“The High Elders are powerful men. Their relationship with God, their powers, their status, if the women sworn to them do what they should, obey, honor, and have children, they and their families are all but guaranteed a spot in heaven in the next life.”

Indenuel dug into his chicken with his knife, hoping that would keep the anger at bay. He had heard of the duties of a woman. With all the healers available, if a woman could not get pregnant, it was clearly a mark against her worthiness with God. Something he had heard, but had never given it much more thought, because all things marriage had been denied him for so long that he never cared. But now he remembered. A man could divorce his wife if she didn’t produce children, and clearly the same sentiment had been used with concubines. It must be some sort of mercy that Inessa was being passed around the High Elders instead of being sent home, but Indenuel could not see it that way in the slightest.

As his thoughts wandered, he found his gaze resting on Inessa again. She ate her chicken quietly as everyone else around the table laughed and exchanged stories. She looked so lonely. Even Martin, who was sitting at the front of the table, had his entire body turned away from her and instead talked with his wife, and Inessa let herself be ignored.

“We need to talk about something else,” Indenuel said, understanding the protective feelings creeping up inside him. If Inessa was to be off limits, he could not know anything more about her. He didn’t dare. “This chicken is amazing. I’ve never eaten a lot of chicken before now.”

Tolomon nodded. “It is quite delicious.”

Indenuel tried to think of something else, anything else besides Inessa sitting at a table not that far from him. “Have you seen a lot of the world, Tolomon?”

“Not too much, no. I wouldn’t mind going to see one of those islands the Dengrians boast so much about. Islands with sand so soft you could sleep on it like pillows,” Tolomon said.

“We’ll have to look into it after the war is over,” Indenuel said.

Tolomon nodded. “I could only go if you wanted to, since I have to follow you.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to plan a trip there sometime,” Indenuel said. “I wonder how long it would take?”

“Three months at least to get to Dengria,” Tolomon said. “Another month to sail to their islands.”

“So definitely a thing to do after the war.”

“Definitely.”

Indenuel couldn’t eat anymore. His plate was half finished, and he was ready to be done. Tolomon assured him that it would go to the poor as a servant took it away. He wondered what poor there were left in the city if the concubine law solved it all, but he wasn’t ready to ask that question. He didn’t want the conversation to lead back to Inessa.

Fadrique was talking to one of his concubines, and she gave a forced laugh. Fadrique smirked like he had said something clever, and Indenuel tightened his grip over his wine glass as he took another sip.

Another bowl was brought to him, and Tolomon tasted it before nodding. Indenuel stirred it with his spoon, the texture thicker than gravy, yet it must be some sort of dessert.

“What is this?” Indenuel asked.

“Chocolate pudding, a famed recipe from Zimoro. It is very sweet,” Tolomon said.

Indenuel shrugged and took a bite before coughing immediately. Sugar was a rarity in Mountain Pass, but not unheard of. He’d never tasted so much of it in one dish, however. The overly sweet pudding coated his mouth. He forced himself to swallow it, barely tasting the chocolate. It was all sugar, in his opinion. His entire body convulsed before he managed to give King Ramiro an awkward smile with watery eyes.

“Delicious,” he said, his mouth coated with sugar.

King Ramiro let out another one of his booming laughs before patting him on the shoulder. “It is powerful if you’re not used to it.” Indenuel brought his spoon up again, bracing himself for another bite. “You don’t have to finish it. I know it’s sweet.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He dropped his spoon in the pudding and picked up his glass. He drank some wine with one eye closed, trying to clear his mouth out. He swished the wine around before closing both eyes and swallowing it, still feeling the sugar running down his throat. He set down his wine glass and let out a breath, smacking his tongue against the top of his mouth as he winced. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to anything like that. Instinctually he looked toward Martin’s table, right at Inessa, who stared right back at him. His heart leapt to his sugar-coated throat. Inessa’s eyes widened before she turned and focused on her own pudding. He looked away again, playing over in his mind what his face must have looked like eating the pudding. It couldn’t have been a great first impression. It was probably for the best. She was, after all, off limits.