Trouble arose from the moment Meya’s entourage set foot into the guest quarters.

Meya’s ten guards had been sent to join the Hadrian guards and take up duties in various parts of the castle, and the chamberlain, Sir Rondell, had taken over the arrangements in the Lady’s quarters.

None of the maids they brought from Crosset were noble or experienced, so Sir Rondell decided they would join the other peasant girls in the scullery. Gretella wouldn’t have objected, if not for the fact that her beloved lady was now among those peasants, too.

Gretella argued that Arinel and Haselle were Meya’s favorite maids-of-honor, but Sir Rondell insisted that as Meya was now a Hadrian, he would select proper maids-of-honor for her on behalf of Baroness Sylvia. However, he did relented and allowed Gretella, Arinel and Haselle to prepare Meya for the wedding, and let Gretella remain as Meya’s personal attendant.

After some rest, a change of clothes, and another lecture from Arinel and Gretella, Meya was taken to her second nightmare.

The Dinner Table.

When Baron Kellis said he’d throw a feast, it was an actual feast that awaited Meya as she entered the Great Hall.

The Hadrians and noble guests were already seated at the long table at the end of the Hall, while their staff and lesser guests dined at the long tables lined in the middle of the room.

Servants buzzed about laying down dish upon dish of extravagant cuisine. There was a roasted stuffed peacock complete with shimmering tail feathers as decoration. A two-foot-long broiled fish straight from the Southern sea, dripping with batter. Beef and pork slabs peppered with droplets of grease and blood served on a bed of baked fruits and vegetables. Plates of pungent cheese, meat pies, berry pastries and vividly colored fruit jellies. There was even a miniature Hadrian Castle sculpted out of sugar.

“So, Lady Arinel, how are you finding our home so far?”

Once servants had finished laying down the enormous platters on their end of the table, the conversation opener came from Baroness Sylvia, as Baron Kellis heaped broiled fish onto her plate.

Meya was seated on the couple’s opposite, between Lord Coris and Lord Zier, and Coris had also begun plying food onto her plate. After a nod and sweet smile of thanks, she turned to the Baroness with a honeyed smile.

“More like not finding, my lady. It’d be some time before I learned my way around here.”

Meya joked. She laid down her knife and took a sip of grape juice from her brass goblet, her other sweaty hand gripping the fork as her eyes traveled, studying the others as they dug in. Liquid was pretty much the only food she had the slightest idea how to ingest right now.

The Baroness laughed.

“You have the Hadrian men to blame for that.” She shot her husband a look of frustrated amusement. “This castle was built to thwart heists. By Freda, the number of hidden doors and rooms they’ve added over the generations—and the number of times I got lost trying to find the way to the scullery!”

She turned to smile at Head Cook Apollon, who bowed from where he stood at the head of the table. “Needless to say, I didn’t get to enjoy midnight snack.”

Meya giggled. Who would’ve thought the Baroness enjoyed sneaking out for a late-night finger-dip of overnight meat sauce?

“Makes you wonder how many Hadrinians they’ve accidentally trapped over the years—Oh, it’s alright, Lord Coris. Please eat.”

She covered her plate with a hasty grin as Coris made to add roasted peacock onto the tottering pile. Coris froze, then smiled.

“Please, just Coris.” He pulled up a side plate and deposited the meat on it instead. Meya frowned. It was a question niggling her since she’d first heard of his name.

“Would you mind? I’ve been wondering—Isn’t Coris a lady’s name?”

It was an impertinent question, one Mum would have pinched her arm for if she were around. Yet, Coris didn’t seem to mind. He chuckled, silvery eyes glinting in the firelight.

“I get that a lot.” He shrugged, then tilted his head at his parents, “Father calls me Coris. Mother prefers Lexi. When they’re furious with me, I’m Corien Alexis. Tempest and defender of Hadrian. Needless to say, I do my damnedest to infuriate them.”

Meya guffawed along with those who had heard as Baroness Sylvia reached over to pinch her son’s meatless arm. As hilarity subsided, curiosity took hold.

“Say, what is the meaning of my name?” She mused.

Of course, Meya wasn’t talking about her name. She had received her true name from Friar Tumney, taken straight from the Glennian Runes. It looked beautiful and exotic, written in Latakian letters, but sounded nothing like what one would expect.

It was believed Chione would control Greeneyes using their true names. Thus, christening them with names so difficult even the Greeneyes themselves couldn’t pronounce or spell was considered a smart move.

Meya’s full name was May-lah Ahn-ya...or some thingy of the sort. This gave free headaches to everyone—Meya herself, her siblings, her parents, peasants, craftsmen, merchants, noblemen—all the way to scribes and castle clerks. In other words, the most literate professions in Crosset! And, of course, Friar Tumney, who was often requested to explain it in vain (and also Chione, hopefully).

According to the friar, it meant queen of May and heavenly glow, which were sardonic considering Meya’s status as the most abominated component of May Fest, and her unholy glowing eyes. From a young age, she went by the simple and meaningless Meya, instead.

Coris put down his soup spoon and touched his chin in thought, eyes unfocused.

“I’d guess Arinel is derived from arinn, which denotes light in ancient runes. And Annetta is from anitha: grace. So, to conclude, you are the light of grace.”

Meya almost spewed the blue mash she had just inserted into her mouth.

Goodly Freda, that’s even worse than heavenly glow.

“Is the gravy too peppery?” The Baroness gawked as Meya thumped her chest and chugged down grape juice, while Coris patted her back, then her eyes widened.

“That reminds me—If you have any allergies or dislikes, do let me know. Well, anything but vegetables.” She added just when Meya was about to say pickles and tomatoes, then turned sharply to her youngest son, who was scarfing down chopped-beef steak.

“Eat your blue mash, Zier. They held the indigo from Freda’s Lake.”

Then, the Baroness turned away and beckoned for the Head Cook. Zier scowled behind his mother’s back, muttering just loud enough for Meya to hear.

“I don’t care if it’s water from Freda’s lake, this gunk both look and smell ugh.”

He stabbed his fork sullenly into the blue goo. Meya nudged his feet under the table. When he turned around, she flicked her tomato with her fork, and Zier understood the signal.

After a quick glance to make sure Coris was busy sipping his soup, and the Baroness was deep in discussion with the Cook, he scooped the whole pile of mash onto Meya’s plate and swiped the tomatoes back to his own.

Meanwhile, the silent Baron Kellis finally joined the conversation.

“Speaking of blue vegetables, I’ve just heard from Norena Safyre the other day. Her dyers are experimenting with everything from blue potatoes to blueberries to reproduce the Safyre Blue.”

“Have they got any luck so far?” The Baroness looked half-amused, half sympathetic. The Baron shook his head, and Zier shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of juicy tomato.

“That’s what happens when your family’s dye recipe hinges on lapis lazuli carted across two lands and an ocean.”

“Zier,” A sharp voice issued from Meya’s left. Meya turned to see Coris’s glare zeroing in on Zier. “We have a Hyacinth here, in case you have forgotten.”

He lowered his voice and jerked his chin to the tapestried wall before them, where a line of young maids-of-honor, squires and pages stood rigid with their hands clasped at their middle.

While Meya had no idea which one was the Hyacinth heir that Coris was talking about, Zier obviously knew but couldn’t be bothered to spare a round of wind.

“Well, it’s true! You know the rules for setting a clan color: One, only your clan can procure it. Two, you can ensure stable, sustainable supply.”

He laid down his utensils and counted on his fingers. Coris’s glare lowered in temperature, though his voice remained calm and soft.

“Zier, the Safyres and the Hyacinths hailed from opposite sides of the Blue Mountains, hence their names and their choice of lapis lazuli as their dye. Their ancestors wouldn’t have expected mining to be banned and ore ships from Everglen to disappear centuries later, would they?”

“But, at the least—” Zier was still not relenting.

“Boys?” The Baroness drawled, the end of her voice rising in tandem with her eyebrows. Both brothers zipped their mouths at once. The Baroness gestured with her chin towards Meya, squeezed between them, while the Baron scolded.

“Coris, as Baron, you’ll have to lead and guide an entire town of commoners. How could you ever hope to placate them in times of crisis, if you can’t carry an amicable talk with your own brother over dinner?”

The Baron’s voice wasn’t so low, and for a moment the whole table fell silent as the eyes of visiting lords and ladies turned to their host in bewilderment. Coris sighed and dipped his head, his pale face tinged pink with contrition.

“I’m sorry, Father. I shouldn’t have been so patronizing.”

The Baron nodded in approval, then resumed eating as if he didn’t have another son to discipline. Zier blew out an annoyed breath and stabbed moodily at his steak.

“So, what’s your opinion on Hadrian Red, Arinel?” The Baroness deftly picked up the conversation, “Young women tend to be put off by its luridness, you see. They fear it makes them look wider.”

Meya hitched up a grin. Sparing her Hadrian Red gown a glance, she shrugged,

“My lady, I’ve lived in a castle swarming with folks draped in sheets of tree mold for sixteen years. I’d say this lighten things up somewhat.”

The Baron and Baroness let out barking laughs in unison. Coris chuckled. Moody Zier even managed a grin, and Meya was emboldened to continue.

“Don’t you ever wish to wear other colors? Like commoners do?”

“I do, actually. I’d like myself some Crosset Green, or even Graye Gray. Imagine spending a whole day training, then retiring to a bedroom plastered with crimson. A lad couldn’t catch a breather.” Zier shook his head in amusement.

“What is Hadrian Red made of, by the way?” Meya asked.

“Now it is derived from the Hadrian Rose, but in the old days, we would grind red crystals from the mines near the western volcanoes, before we found out it was poisonous.” The Baron replied.

“Red crystals—like rubies?” Meya leaned in, eyes widened. The Baron nodded with a laugh.

"Realgar. They are just beautiful—but a deadly poison, as it turned out. We have samples in the Gallery. Encased in glass, of course. Coris could show you around, if you’d like.”

He cocked his head at Coris, who looked up and smiled at Meya.

Meya was beside herself with relief and excitement. Who’d think talking with nobility would be—enjoyable. In fact, she felt as if she had talked more with the Hadrians over dinner, than with her own family in a week.

“That’d be splendid.” She accepted the offer, her voice breathy with excitement. “Don’t you just love staring at shiny things?”

“Don’t we all do?” The Baroness agreed as she caressed the centerpiece ruby on her silver necklace. The Baron clasped his hand atop hers, his gaze wistful.

“Though this beauty would probably be your last for a while, Sylvia. Least ’til the ships return.”

“Agh! I’m sure we women have enough rubies and sapphires and emeralds and diamonds to last a few years. You worry about your iron first, my lord.”

Sylvia waved it aside in slight exasperation. Coris perked up, silvery eyes alert. Noticing that out of the corner of his eyes, Kellis patted his wife’s hand with a chiding smile.

“Now, Sylvia. It wouldn’t do to trouble the young ones with such heavy matters over dinner. And right before their wedding day, too! They’d need all the sleep they could get.”

The Baroness shot a look at Coris, then promptly resumed discussing jewelry. Coris blew a quiet sigh as he returned to his cold soup, his expression gloomy. Zier was paying not the slightest attention—joking about with a young nobleman sitting to his right.

The conversation around the long table fell away into incomprehensible buzz as Meya delved into her thoughts. She surveyed the party, studying everyone.

Though dinner with the Hadrians was an interesting new experience, there were several mysteries. First off, the whole table was shrouded in the aroma of numerous spices and herbs Meya did not know, fuming from the costly and exotic dishes Meya had never in her life laid eyes on. Yet, Lord Coris adhere to his personal soup bowl, only occasionally forking a piece of boiled carrot from the stew into his mouth and chewing carefully. Like Meya, who had a distaste for fermented goods, he drank nothing but grape juice.

It could be that he was recovering from an upset stomach, and thus refrained from hearty food. However, his pale countenance and frail frame suggested his malady was not temporary. Not to mention the Baron’s unexplained fury and Coris’s own cryptic remarks back in the morning. Perhaps, this might be the catch Meya had been wondering about.

And what was it about iron that couldn’t be discussed in front of Coris? Meya reckoned they were talking about the metal shortage Jezia had told her about back in Crosset. It seemed that apart from a shortage in money coins, the Everglen ships’ disappearance was also affecting the supply of everything from jewelry to cloth dyes and iron.

What would happen to Latakia if the ships never returned? What would happen if there were no metal and minerals from overseas, yet mining was still banned? Even as a lowly peasant girl, Meya couldn’t help being concerned.

Coris seemed to have his own opinion about the situation. Perhaps they could share a discussion once she could have him on his own.

But that would have to wait until after this castle heist business was over.