Dinner found me in a foul mood.

It had been a taxing day after everything that happened, and I had little patience for whatever other foul plots or mischief the castle had in store.

The king had not been seen since breakfast, and returned from his hunt only an hour before the meal was served. I noted that he gave his son no greeting when he arrived, but he did kiss the hands of his brides. I hadn't seen the twins since breakfast either, and briefly pondered what they had done with their day.

I was surprised the prince joined the hall for dinner, having assumed that after his brush with death he would have been ordered to remain in bed for the rest of the day and night. But the prince, of course, took orders from no one, and was most likely attending out of a wicked desire to tell his father what happened in the courtyard that morning—or his version of the events.

I could only hope the king would allow me the opportunity to share my side of the story.

The boy was sour-faced and petulantly flicking peas at the servants. Every so often I heard him whining about the pain in his body, how it hurt to walk and sit and talk and eat. 

"My legs are too wobbly to hold me. My skin is on fire. My head aches from all the noise. My chest is caving in..."

Indeed, he looked exhausted, like it took the last of his energy just to be alive.

His father ignored every complaint.

The court was engaged in their usual grotesque feasting, though I noted more than a few suspicious glances cast in my direction. The prince had spread his lies quickly, but I wondered if any of the servants who were present in the kitchen spoke a word on my behalf.

Some form of retribution was coming my way, be it a stern word or physical pain, so I spent most of the meal in anxious silence.

A young servant tripped over the purposefully outstretched foot of a courtier, who laughed as the girl tumbled and spilled her platter of food across the floor. The servant appeared unfazed by the mistreatment and scrambled to clear the mess, but as she did so several hands reached over to pinch her bottom. By the time the poor woman ran from the hall her face was red and teary, and I knew she would seek a corner in which to cower and sob.

I had done nothing to comfort her, but sat and ate among monsters, and that did not help the dread in my heart. I should have gone after her and apologized. I should have told her not everyone in the hall was the same.

Instead, I sat as if tied to my chair, and stared at my dinner companions with contempt.

They ate several times their fill and wasted even more. Perfectly good food was carelessly tossed to the ground or emptied from a stomach into a bucket.

Did everyone in the kingdom enjoy such extravagant meals? Were the servants secretly feasting out of view of the nobles? Did the people who lived under the king's rule share in the spoils of court life—

Or were there families that starved while their "betters" gorged and vomited? Were there children who went to bed hungry, even after their parents labored for long hours hunting and harvesting?

I knew no one in the hall had ever given such questions a moment of consideration.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the king lean over to his son. The prince was glaring at me as his mouth moved in a whisper. The king frowned and turned to me.

"I heard an unpleasant rumor upon my return home. At first, I dismissed it as a frivolous scandal, but now my son tells me you attempted to murder him in the garden. Is this true?"

"No, Your Highness, it's not true at all. I only wanted to please the prince by giving him a flower. I didn't know any better and I asked him to smell it."

"Ah, he didn't mention the flower. He said you attacked him when he commanded you to turn into the wolf."

"That's not true! He's lying!" 

My voice had risen and caught the ears of nearby courtiers. A handful of heads turned to the king's table, and some of the chattering was beginning to dim.

"It's a serious offense to insult the prince. I'll give you one chance to admit your guilt."

How could the king remain blind to the spoiled beast sitting beside him? In the little time I'd spent with him I knew he was a cold man, but not a fool.

And I was not a coward.

"I'm not guilty. Yes, the prince commanded me to change, but I explained—politely explained—that it was not a tame animal and it would be too dangerous to unleash it. He got upset but nothing came of it. Then we walked through the courtyard and I picked a flower. A pink one. I gave it to him, even plucked an invisible bug from the petals at his insistence, but I didn't know it would make him cough so much. I thought he would smell it and be happy. No one told me otherwise." The king's expression had not changed, and my words grew rambling and desperate. "It's the prince who lies, Your Highness. I never laid a finger on him! What reason do I have to hurt the prince? I told him 'no', and he took that word as an attack, but in fact I was protecting him by refusing. I kept him safe. That's all that happened, I swear it. You can ask the servants who were there and they'll tell you the truth, too, but I don't know if honesty and fairness are wanted in this court at all—"

I ceased abruptly, fearing I had gone too far with my last remark. My blood was boiling and anger had risen, punctuated in my mind with a sharp growl from the wolf. I'd lost myself for a moment and hoped my lapse would not prove fatal.

Reckless fool, I cursed myself.

The king's mouth had curled upward as I ranted, and his eyes narrowed in dark amusement.

"There was indeed someone who saw you in the courtyard. We'll hear her side and get to the bottom of this."

He threw a severe look at his son and waved a servant to his table.

"Find the one from this morning."

When she arrived the court went silent, no doubt already consumed with rumors and anticipating something grim to come. The servant who'd found us in the garden stood in the center of the hall, wringing her apron and visibly trembling.

"There's a disagreement on what happened today," the king began. "The prince tells one story and my guest another. You were the one who found them first, and I will hear what you have to say on the matter."

The servant dipped into a curtsy and I heard snickers from the court at her display.

"As it pleases Your Highness, the prince had one of his fits from a flower offered by the new boy. I found him struggling so I tried the movements the physicians showed us. It didn't help, so I took it upon myself to carry him to the kitchen, where we gave him medicine and paste and a leaf of mint. And we called a physician right away. I was shown the flower, and trampled and spit on the offending thing, and said a prayer after for good measure."

"What sort of flower was it?"

"One of them pink ones from the vines. Always thought myself they were too overgrown for the prince to be near them."

"Your opinion on their number is not important."

She gave another curtsy.

"Pardon me, I'll remember my place."

It was a wonder to see the woman, who had been stern and resolute just hours before diminished into simpering.

The king turned to his son, and his voice was loud enough for all to hear.

"You allowed a simple flower...to almost kill you?"

Embarrassment blanketed the room, and most of its heat came from the boy on the king's right. I heard a small sound and realized that one of the twins had snickered, though it was too soft for anyone but myself to hear.

The king continued to glower until the prince lowered his eyes to his plate.

"The vines will be burned," the king commanded, "so no more dangerous flowers can threaten the prince's life." It was a cruel jest. "And as for you—" His eyes returned to the servant in the center of the hall, "You saved my son and for that I am grateful. A gold coin will be rewarded for your quick thinking."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

"But you touched a royal. Your future king still bears marks on his chest from your unclean hands. For that, there will be ten lashes given immediately, one for each finger you laid upon him. Understand that it's a kindness, for I could have commanded worse. I could have commanded death."

The servant nodded. "Thank you, my most gracious and wise king."

Two guards took her arms and guided her out of the hall. After a few moments, a loud crack followed by a scream cut through the quiet, and a few members of the court chuckled in approval.

The king did not wait to hear the rest of the punishment.

"So," he said to the prince, "you lied to your father. You lied to a king." Without taking his eyes from the quivering boy the king commanded, "Bring in the whelp."

As guards moved to do his bidding, the court shifted in their seats. I heard the king mutter to his son, "Shame on you, boy. Shame on you for being so damn weak."

The prince slid down into his seat, his eyes shining with tears.

Now the guards were at the entrance of the hall, flanking both sides of a boy the same age as the prince. In stark contrast to the royal, the boy, whom the king had called, 'the whelp', was enormous. His stomach hung over his trousers, which were held up by a thick rope. His shirt, once white, was torn and stained, and his hair was a mess of tangles and nests.

But the boy was not afraid, in fact, his expression suggested he had been anticipating his arrival in the hall, and the guards were beside him more out of ceremony than necessity. With each step his stomach jiggled, and his face flushed red from the strain of his gait, as if the act of walking took a great amount of effort.

The king eyed the whelp with absolute disgust.

One of the twins, the red-eyed beauty, leaned over and whispered to me.

"Those of noble blood must never be struck, so the whelp acts as an extension of the prince. He is the conduit for the prince's leisure and punishment."

"You mean he—"

"Will take the place of the prince, yes. Just as he's always done."

"Hush," snapped her green-eyed sister, "someone will hear you."

The king descended from his platform and approached the whelp, who had the good sense to keep his focus on the floor.

"Meet my eyes, boy."

He was speaking to the prince. His son raised his head, and his bleary eyes met the ice of his father's gaze.

"You are a humiliation, an indignity to this court. You continue to prove yourself unworthy of being my heir. And now you lie to my face."

The king's hand rose high into the air.

"Shame on you."

His hand came down hard on the whelp, striking the boy's face in a slap that echoed through the hall. The whelp cried out and nearly fell to the floor, but caught himself in time and stood up straight, moving like a trained dog back into his original position. I recognized his yelp of pain as the same one that had come from the prince's room.

The first hit had done him harm. The whelp's bottom lip was bleeding from a minor split.

"Shame on you," the king repeated before sending another powerful blow upon the child.

This one succeeded in sending the whelp to the floor, and he gasped for air through heavy sobbing.

The king waited for the boy to pull himself up, scoffing as the boy struggled to do so. When he was on his feet, the king snapped his fingers and the entire court began a low, eerie chant.

"Unfit to rule. Shame on you. Unfit to rule. Shame on you."

Every voice joined in the ritual, the physicians, the guards, the servants. No one stopped or turned from the scene, but stared and repeated their cruel words.

Except for the prince.

His face was a mixture of disgrace and pain, but he didn't dare look away from his father. He began to cry, though not as hard as the one who took his punishment, as if each utterance from the court was a lash across his own body.

I wasn't sure which was worse, a strike from the king or the condemnation of the room.

Twice more the king hit the whelp, and twice more the boy retook his place, but his face was beginning to show significant damage. His nose was bleeding, and a smear of blood went from his brow to his chin. One of his eyes was beginning to swell, and his bottom lip had plumped so big that he had a difficult time opening his mouth to wail.

Stay down, I wanted to scream, do not stand to receive another hit!

But I knew such an act of defiance would never cross the whelp's mind.

He continued to raise his massive body back to its feet, and there was a kind of heroic courage in that. As much violence as I'd seen in the circus, this was something I could not watch any longer. Conduit of the prince or not, the child was innocent. I thought of the servant who'd run from the hall in tears, how I wanted to console her but remained silent.

I would not do so again.

The scratch of my chair against the floor crashed through the chant, and I stood with curled fists and gritted teeth.

"Your Highness," I called loudly from the table, "I think the prince has learned his lesson."

The chanting stopped and the king regarded me like I'd sprouted another head.

"Have you learned your lesson?" The question was asked of the prince.

With his eyes wet and his whimper carrying the only noise in the room, the prince gave a slight nod.

"I will hear you say it."

"I—I've learned m-my lesson, Dada."

"Learned my lesson, my king."

"I've learned my lesson, my k-king."

"I'm a good father, which is why I do this to you."

"Yes."

"Get off your backside and thank the whelp. He took a punishment that would have killed you."

The prince did as he was told and walked the long path from the table to the center of the room. When he reached his father's side, the prince appeared unsure what to do.

"Look at what you did," his father hissed. "You hurt this defenseless, pathetic thing. Thank him."

"Thank y-you."

"For taking your punishment."

"For taking my punishment."

"For you cannot be struck."

"I cannot be struck."

"Not because you are royal, but because you are weak."

The prince's eyes grew wide. It seemed this last line of the recitation was new.

But his hesitation was too long and the king raised his hand.

"I am too weak," the prince admitted.

"Too delicate for a flower," his father spat. "Now lower yourself and show your gratitude."

Noticeably shaking, the prince knelt and pressed his lips against the whelp's shoe. The moment they connected, the court began to voice their scorn with hisses and scoffs.

The prince rose from the floor and his father put a hand on his shoulder.

"One day when you take the throne you'll think back to this moment and all the others like it, and you'll remember that you lost something here. Every time you humiliate yourself, you cut away a piece of respect the court has for you. Continue down this shameful path and you'll cut until no respect is left. Then you won't be a ruler worth having."

The king returned to his table and the whelp was taken from the hall, this time leaning on the guards.

The prince watched them depart, still standing in the center of the room, surrounded by the continuous din of disappointment.