The Heir

~ ZARA ~

We were seated in the grand dining room that reminded me of that old British historical television series we'd watched when I was in middle school. A long, dark, glossy table that spanned fifteen feet with candelabras and a centerpiece, too many pieces of silverware, and no less than three different glasses.

I frowned at everything at the place-setting in front of me, shaking my head.

I just needed a fork.

I was sitting very upright, back into a boned dress, though not as grand as those I'd worn as one of the Select.

My mother sat at one end of the table, a few feet to my right. My father at the other end. Far enough away that he had to raise his voice slightly for us to hear him comfortably.

I was confused because my father had always been a cold, distant man. I'd never been able to please him at all. But since the moment he'd discovered me in that room this morning he'd been acting jovial, and… like we were a family.