If someone had told me a month ago that the sovereign Queen would be brought to her knees by a single plate of smoked trout, I would have had them locked them up for treason.
Yet there I was, sitting at the breakfast table in the dining hall, staring down at my untouched plate with a look of utter horror.
"Ophelia?" Selena’s voice broke through the foggy haze in my mind. She was sitting across from me, buttering a slice of rye bread, her eyes narrowing with suspicious amusement. "You’ve been staring at that fish for five straight minutes like it just insulted your lineage."
"It... it smells," I grimaced, covering my nose with my cloth napkin as a sudden wave of nausea rolled through my stomach.
"It’s smoked trout, Luna," Miguel offered from three chairs down, casually piling four pork
