"Avoid the desserts with three petals tonight."

It will be a stomach ache at most. A bad one, if Ayodele takes all the pudding for himself again. Stupid or suspicious as he is.

They've gotten too comfortable. And Kleopatra just grew a new variety of nightshade, so what better opportunity? It's only a small dose anyway. Nothing the Hatherus don't train for. True Hatherus.

Those dinners Father forces on them for the sake of playing family are a toxin of their own. A terribly slow and dull one, that presents in awkward silence from one side of the table and lively chatter on the other. Anapi put it well. They're on the outside looking in at what their father truly is. Of what he's capable of being. Of what he could've been.

Oh poor Mother. You have it worst. From horrible, vengeful children to being a wife to a man so wretched as to move your seat to the opposite side of the table.

"I'm mourning mother's belief in love." Kleopatra had once said when asked about her dark choice in clothing. The humour in her voice was lacking, as usual.

The small bottles in her hands clink together in a tone far too sweet and playful for the dark room. The smell of fruit and flowers is bitter and medicinal, but Kleopatra's senses are immune to it, just as her expression is to change. "I've prepared an antidote if you happen to switch them."

Her mother might come to hate her. Her father most likely already does. Yet Kleopatra will remain stubborn. She may not want the throne, but it is her right. And all that hard work will not be taken away from her by a reason as foolish as love.