-IV-

[Trigger Warning: Body Dysmorphia]

A soft din could be heard from the hall below. Ethan could feel the commotion in his bare toes through the plush carpeting. They would be expecting him shortly.

Ethan felt nausea wash over him. He was standing naked in front of a mirror so immaculate that it mocked his aristocratic figure. The powder room had been spacious when he snuck in to change but now had the feeling of an ever-shrinking prison cell, trapping him in place.

When he touched the offending parts of his body, all he could feel was the unappealing mushiness, the smooth lack of definition. Staring at his own body made Ethan feel sick to his stomach.

They would expect him to eat, they would force him to.

Time passed. Ethan dressed himself. No one had come shouting for him yet. He looked back over the powder room, at the make-up kits, racks of dresses, and boxes of jewelry.

Ethan made his way over to a vanity at the other end of the room. On the vanity, below a triptych mirror, were open displays of sparkling earrings and necklaces. In one of the drawers, he even found a wide assortment of nail polishes in assorted autumnal colors. There was this one color, this deep cobalt, like the far seas under moonlight, which he loved.

No one would notice if he painted just one nail, the way his mother painted all of hers on special occasions. Just the thought of adding that small touch of color to himself eased the sick and desperate feeling that had permeated him less than a minute ago.

But if anyone at the feast noticed, if his father noticed… He slipped the nail polish into the inner pocket of his vest, deciding it would be best to try it out another night.

Instead, Ethan tried on some of the necklaces from around the vanity, the ones which complimented his blonde hair and light blue eyes the best. He wondered if any of them were opulent enough to distract from his scar… Ethan moved on to the earrings, holding them in front of his earlobe, wondering how badly it might hurt to have that dangling fleshy bit pierced-

There was a rustling and two familiar voices outside the powder room door. Ethan dropped the earrings and whipped around, waiting to hear more. There was nothing else to hear, however.

The prince felt a rush of relief and humiliation. After a few deep breaths, Ethan thought he was ready to face the lords and ladies of Monarch’s Hold.

He made his way out of the powder room and down a winding flight of stairs. The rowdy commotion of the feast intensified as he descended. As Ethan entered the great dining hall through the back entrance and sat atop the royal dais, his father’s voice boomed over all else.

“Feast!” King Rowan Lancaster hollered across the great hall. “Feast like it is your last night to live!”

Ethan scanned the hall, searching for Bradshaw.

A merry roar of approval reciprocated the king’s command as the feasting drunk themselves into promiscuity over plates of the finest edible comfort the keep’s chefs could provide.  The courses were in a constant state of flux as platter after platter of delicacies were taken away and replaced by a swarm of bustling servants.

Amongst the dishes presented were singed squirrel boiled in wild duck sauce and dripping in red wine, a veal bukkenade flavored with minty hyssop and lemon juice, baked gammon of bacon caked in pepper and fresh sage and parsley, roasted chicken soaked in saffron, spices and garlic cloves, a steaming capon pie that crumbled away at the mere presence of a curious fork, deer mincemeat packaged in a handheld crust that burned the fingertips of its brave challengers, sides of pear composte, peach tart, grape pudding, apple mousse, strawberries in snow, all washed down by ceaseless gallons of hypocras imported from the coast, flagons of warm almond milk mixed with cinnamon and spiced rum, puddles of buttered beer and claret overflowed onto the floor, and still the appetite of the feasting would not be sated.

Ethan gave up searching for Bradshaw, feeling his appetite dwindle.