Archie looked at the bowl of kulkida risotto at the end of the table.

He looked back up at Prince Waldorf. Children swarmed around the prince, Gluttonous parents in tow. They kissed his hand and fawned over him.

Archie could run. He needed to run. It was his only option. Once Prince Waldorf saw the kulkida risotto, it was all over. Archie needed to get as far away as possible before then.

But he couldn’t move. It was his nightmare all over again, standing there in that patch of grass, hunger approaching, Gluttony approaching, death approaching, but still he couldn’t move. He was the final meal of the event. They would eat him in pieces.

“Oh, I remember you,” Prince Waldorf called out with his unnatural, warbling voice. “The Kent boy.”

The Glutton was so wide that he appeared closer than he truly was. As he waddled through the yard, his details became clear. His wispy black hair that poorly hid his baldness. His triple chin beneath his face. His double neck bubbling up above his face.

“My mother always spoke—back when she could speak—so fondly of your grandfather. She said he had the best Chefs. When I heard about you manifesting, I had hoped you would be one of my best chefs.”

He continued to walk closer. Twenty feet, ten feet. Archie had to crane his neck back to look up at Waldorf’s face, which was seven feet above the ground—and two feet below the tops of his shoulders.

“But I see you’ve landed on your feet. Catering in Caviar Court as a first-year student. Quite impressive. Although I must add, I am offended that you never offered me your services.”

He reached out and grabbed Archie’s shoulder—a friendly gesture, but still painful. The hand stretched from the center of Archie’s bicep to the curve of his neck. The weight caused his knees to buckle.

“Come. Show me what I’ve been missing,” he said as he pulled Archie along toward the serving table.

Archie looked at the end of the table. A couple of enterprising Gluttons were scooping the kulkida risotto out of the serving bowl and into their mouths—likely knowing that Prince Waldorf would be consuming whatever was left on the table.

“So, young Kent. Tell me about today’s food.”

“Uh—I, uh. It’s…” Archie sputtered. He took a deep breath and tried to feign confidence. His voice betrayed him, his teeth nearly chattering between his words. “It’s a variety. But with an emphasis on seafood. Ur—”

Archie almost said Urokan, but stopped just short. He realized that detail would only raise the question—where is the Urokan Chef?

“Ur—you’re going to want to start with blueberry caprese skewers. Uhm. That—that—that’s basil and uh—balsamic vinegar.”

Prince Waldorf took two and lifted them up high. With his other hand, he slid the food off the skewer and into his mouth. If he chewed, Archie didn’t notice.

“Mm,” he said with approval. “My Chefs don’t use skewers. Easier to eat off a plate.”

Archie looked at the risotto at the end of the table. Another Glutton had started to scoop some up. It was nearly gone. Nearly.

Please, please.

Archie needed to stall. He stepped up his feigned confidence and doubled his word count.

“I hope you enjoyed those blueberry caprese skewers. I think you’ll find that they prime your taste buds for our next course, baked salmon with a blueberry balsamic glaze. As you can tell, blueberries are a common trend here. I grew these myself in—”

Prince Waldorf pinched a salmon between two fingers, splitting it in half as he picked it up. He ate it in one bite.

“Mm! I’ll be coming back to that. Impressive, young Kent. Remind me of your name?”

“Archie.”

“Very good, little Archie. What’s next?”

Another course closer to the risotto. Archie could still see at least a full serving in the bowl. Caraway, the birthday boy, had skipped past them to help himself. For once, Archie found himself rooting for the insatiable greed of a Glutton.

“Now, after those, we have a palate cleanser. Sorbet with a faint hint of blueberry.”

“Ha, palate cleansers,” Prince Waldorf dismissed the little crystal cups of sorbet. “I’ve never understood the concept. Next.”

“We have two options for the next course.” Archie’s nerves frayed at the edges. He couldn’t find his breath. His chest felt so tight that he thought his ribs might explode. “Uh—pancetta…pancetta-wrapped roasted cod with artichoke pesto. And—uh—a shrimp linguine.”

Prince Waldorf took both, dipping his hand into the pasta and licking the sauce as it ran down his forearm.

“Say, I saw you at Cafe Julienne, did I not?” Prince Waldorf asked.

“Uh…Uh, yes. Yes sir.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Prince Waldorf corrected.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You know, I haven’t been back since. I don’t think any of the Juliennes particularly like me. They keep finding excuses to not offer me a reservation.” As Prince Waldorf sucked the sauce off his pinky, he used his other hand to slap Archie on the back, nearly knocking the boy over. “It’s alright though. I have plans for their little restaurant. Now. What’s next?”

Prince Waldorf motioned back to the food. Two courses until the risotto.

Archie was a light breeze away from fainting. He rubbed his face, his hand coming away dripping with sweat.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“And, finally, we, uh. We have some desserts. Candies for the kids. And uh—I’d…I’d recommend the blueberry crostata with—with whipped cream.” Archie started to slink away, his breath growing rushed and ragged. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed in the kitchen.”

“Wait!” Prince Waldorf’s voice carried a nasty impatience. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. “You should be honored to have me enjoy your food. Stay.”

Prince Waldorf skipped the candy and went straight to the crostata. He stuck a finger into the middle of one, scooping out a blueberry. As he sucked his finger dry, he noticed the bowl at the end of the table.

“And what’s this?” Prince Waldorf asked with the delight of curiosity. He laughed. “Oh, it looks like whatever it was, it was quite popular. Nothing left.”

Archie’s throat locked up. He sucked air in short, raspy breaths.

“Oh, wait,” Prince Waldorf said as he peered into the bowl. “What’s this?”

He ran a finger from the center up the lip, rolling up a fingerful of residual risotto.

“What is this?” he repeated, his joyful face melting away. His lower jaw jutted out in suspended anger.

The effort it took for Archie to speak made his head spin. “It’s—uh—it’s risotto.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, all too slowly, Prince Waldorf put his finger into his mouth.

They got away. I’m dead, but at least they got away.

For a moment suspended in time, Archie daydreamed of Teff growing up in the rows of the rooftop garden. She’d love the blueberry bushes. He could see her running around during the crowded lunch hours. She’d love the chance to make so many friends.

Prince Waldorf pulled his finger out of his mouth with a pop!

His anger disappeared, replaced by a neutral expression. He stared at his finger for a while, then looked around the party.

For a second, Archie thought he’d be okay.

Prince Waldorf looked at one of his Acorn Guards.

“Take him.”

“What? No—no—no!” Archie tried to run, but he was too late. The guard grabbed his arm, Archie’s skin burning and tearing in the tight grip.

“Where is my cousin…Lingon?” Prince Waldorf looked up at Lord Rathbond. “Are you aware of what you’re serving to your guests?”

Lord Rathbond stood in a crowd of dazed guests. “I—I do—no—I—”

“LINGON!” Prince Waldorf shouted.

Each syllable hit Archie like a wave. An emptiness grew in his stomach. Everyone was still except for the flies that feasted on whatever the Gluttons had missed.

“No, your Royal Highness. I—Sorghum! Sorghum recommended them.”

Prince Waldorf raised a clenched fist up near his face. His voice solidified and deepened, reminding Archie of the voice in the forest. “And where. Is. Sorghum?”

Prince Waldorf looked into the eyes of each guest with a predator’s intensity.

“He—here, your Royal Highness.” Mr. Ackers stepped forward.

“Come. Here.” Prince Waldorf lowered his fist, using it to steady himself against the table.

Mr. Ackers walked forward tentatively, stopping several feet away from the prince.

“Clo-ser.”

Mr. Ackers stepped within arm’s reach.

“Remind me, Sorghum” Prince Waldorf said. His head stretched forward and twisted to the side to look at Mr. Ackers. “Do we possess familial relations?”

“N—no, your Royal Highness.” He spoke so quietly that even Archie could barely hear from a few feet away.

“Do you…understand…what this is?” Prince Waldorf asked, having to stop to take deep breaths every few words. The tense silence erupted as he slammed his fist into the bowl, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

“I…it’s…” Mr. Ackers looked to the other guests for help. They were too scared to make eye contact, turning away at his gaze.

“Don’t…lie…to me,” Prince Waldorf said.

“I…yes. I’m sorry. Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m so—I’m so—” He spat as he talked, a sob stealing away his last words.

Prince Waldorf took several deep breaths. He pushed his fist harder into the table, threatening to break it, while his other hand patted around his waistline.

“Wine,” Prince Waldorf quietly commanded Mr. Ackers.

Mr. Ackers fumbled around his clothing, frantically searching his pockets. It took only seconds to find the vial of pale green liquid, but in that time, the prince’s condition had deteriorated noticeably. His breaths became raspy and desperate. His arm trembled, barely able to hold the weight.

Prince Waldorf snatched the wine from Mr. Ackers and drank it in one gulp.

“Another,” he whispered sternly.

Mr. Ackers produced another vial, which Prince Waldorf drank. The prince started to straighten his back. He took his fist off of the table. His voice settled, barely above a whisper. Still in the guard’s grasp, Archie leaned in to listen.

“You understand…if you weren’t one of us, you’d never see sunlight again. You’d live in the dungeon for the rest of your days. Shackles would grind your ankles down to the bone. You would eat darkness and table scraps. Oh yes, I’d feed you—but only just enough to make you starve slowly. And then I’d feed you—to the pigs. I wonder how their meat would taste.”

“Y—yes, your Royal Highness,” Mr. Ackers said with his head hung low. “I made a mistake. A terrible mistake. It’s—my hunger—my hunger got the better of me.”

Prince Waldorf relaxed and smiled. “That…I can understand.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

Prince Waldorf turned and walked up to Archie.

“Now…you. You understand what you’ve done. No one makes that accidentally. I just wonder…” He leaned in and whispered. “...if you understand how bad the consequence will be?”

Prince Waldorf looked at the guard. “Take him to my kitchen.”

The guard yanked him away. Archie walked without resisting—he saw no point in dragging his feet. There was nothing left to be done. As he was taken away, Archie looked at the guests. Lord Rathbond. Mr. Ackers. None of them seemed to even be aware of his presence.

The guards took him through the city and into the keep. The only person that seemed to notice his detainment was Chrysanth, who looked confused but said nothing as the other guards dragged Archie through the main gate, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

The guards led Archie into a familiar place. He entered Prince Waldorf’s section of the keep. He was taken down a familiar hallway. Servant’s room and the kitchen on the left, washing room straight ahead, he remembered.

He started to step into the servant’s room, assuming he’d be going into the kitchen, but the guard yanked him toward the washing room. A servant was scrubbing one of a hundred dirty dishes. The guards pulled him through into a room full of silver serving platters, fine china, and ornate crystal bowls.

He hardly had time to marvel at the riches. The guards pulled him through another door into a courtyard. A stone path with gray pillars formed a square around a little sanctuary of grass. A tree grew from the middle of the lawn, leaving only a sliver of sky visible between its wide-reaching branches and the stone archways that framed the area.

They crossed the courtyard and entered a room that seemed half-dining room, half-study. A massive chair, larger than Archie had ever seen, sat behind a shiny slab of mahogany wood that was half-table and half-desk, covered in papers and plates. Nude statues looked down at him from alcoves in the walls. The room was covered in paintings depicting either pornographic scenes or food.

A massive door—all doors in Prince Waldorf’s section of the keep were massive—was open in the back of the room, revealing a bed as large as Archie’s entire room at the Academy. A woman laid limp in the bed, thoughtless eyes tracking Archie as he was dragged away.

The guard took a keyring from one of the table’s drawers and inserted a key into a hole that had been hidden behind a potted plant. A section of wall revealed itself as a hidden door, scraping along the ground as it swung open

They entered a small yet pristine kitchen. Two rows of counters made a walkway that ended with a pantry. No windows, the lanterns casting the room in dancing yellows and oranges. At first, it seemed like a normal kitchen.

And then Archie saw the chain bolted into the ground.

One of the guards fit the shackle around Archie’s ankle and locked it with the clunk! of a key.