King of Swords [ Regulus Black ]

Chapter 8

Throughout dinner, I am painfully conscious of the predicament I have created. The adrenaline coursing through my veins is not the type that causes a swooning pride. Instead, it makes my head feel heavy, my palms slick with sweat, and my fingers shake.

We are served ortolans for the main course. The little birds from southwest France. Tradition states that it is such a lapse of morality to eat these tiny creatures one must cover their head with a napkin while doing so.
When my plate floats toward me, I lift a palm to the house elves commanding it.

I don't feel much like eating, but I cover my head anyway. The darkness doesn't do much for my nerves. Regulus' eyes on the back of my skull cut through the thick napkin fabric.

The crunch of bone and beak resounds over the room. It is more than I can take at the moment. I cast the napkin off and, against my better judgment, turn around.

Barty, Evan, Maslin, and Dolohov are seated beside me. Dolohov doesn't indulge either, resting against the back of the chair with his face covered. The rest of them eat with a ravenous hunger. Even covered, I can still see their sins.

I move my head to check for Haro at the head table. He has disappeared onto the balcony with Atus. I can't see their faces through the frosted glass, only two dark forms against the railing. At least I have succeeded at something tonight.

Regulus is smirking at me with his napkin removed. I already expected that, though. I stare at him in return, unflinching. He wants me to falter and break beneath his gaze, but I refuse. My hubris is so heavy that it weighs me down.

Looking him up and down, I take in this devil I have made a pact with. Lacking his cloak and clouds of smoke, he almost appears to be no more than a handsome, pure-blood boy. An extra effort was made to tussle his raven hair. A well-fitting suit with gilded jewelry dons him like a prince.

I notice there are more than a few empty champagne flutes around him. Regulus likes to indulge in something other than little birds. With a careful hand, he lifts a full one to me in mock cheers with his heavily ringed fingers. I raise mine back; I am not sure why. I can't seem to help myself.

The cracks and slurps continue to chime through the room. The only sound save for the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.
The balcony door slides open and steals my attention from Regulus.

Haro strides back into the room, wiping sweat from his brow. He peers about until he finds my unhooded face. I immediately register the cold look he is flashing me. Somehow, someway, I have drastically fucked up.

When I turn around once more, I realize Regulus has had his attention thieved as well. He stares at Greengrass's wife, who has now removed her napkin. She clutches her chest as if she is having trouble breathing. The sound swells through her throat as she takes to stand. It sounds like a hiccup at first, but then she clutches onto the table's edge, and I realize what I have done.

I have drastically, immensely, and utterly fucked up.

Atus is back inside now, darting past tables to get to her. The look on his face screams trepidation. He must think she is choking on little birds. His hands fly up to meet her, and he clutches her face.

I know what it is to watch a car crash happen in slow motion. This is precisely that. There is quite literally nothing that I can do from my seat. I take to stand, but Haro immediately points at me and motions to sit.