Transmigrated into a Fantasy World with No Clue What To Do Chapter 44: Chapter 43: Lunch with the Future In-laws / The Calm Before the Storm

Read chapter 44 of Transmigrated into a Fantasy World with No Clue What To Do by PrincessArylin on NovelPedia.

Chapter 43: Lunch with the Future In-laws / The Calm Before the Storm The day before Izzy’s ball, I wake early, more out of anticipation than anything. Today, Angus’s parents, the King and Queen, want to have lunch with me. Me. I have spent most of the morning trying not to freak out, after all, they have met me before and seemed to like me… except they haven’t. Not really. Not me as I am now. The morning so far has been spent with me changing my entire wardrobe three times, much to Mary’s distress. My behavior actually got bad enough that my mother finally had to step in and put her foot down, telling me that I wasn’t allowed to change clothes yet again. So here I sit with a book in hand that stopped holding my attention nearly thirty minutes ago. I’m trying to appear calm yet the butterflies in my stomach keep fluttering. I glance at the clock on the library wall as I pretend to read. Any minute now… The minute hand ticks over by one, then one more, then one more… and time just seems to slow. By the time Angus arrives to collect me, I am beginning to suspect that he has made a habit of appearing at precisely the moment my patience begins to wear thin. Then again, maybe I’m just a bit on edge today. Today’s carriage is not the plain one he had taken for our trip to the Conservatory, but neither is it one of the larger royal carriages I have seen rolling through the city during my brief time here. It is polished, understated, and just ornate enough to remind anyone who sees it that it belongs to someone with authority. The ride to Aberling Castle, though it is more of a palace, is short, too short, really. I hadn’t realized just how close the Duke’s estate was to it. By the time the carriage slows within the palace grounds, I have only just settled into the quiet comfort of his company, his presence putting me at ease and distracting me from who I am on my way to meet. “You’re thinking again,” Angus says as the carriage turns over the last stretch of stone. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I say, glancing at him. “Only when you look like you’re preparing for battle,” he replies with a smile. I huff softly and look toward the window. “You brought me to the palace for lunch with your parents,” I say flatly. “I think preparation is warranted.” “It’s lunch, Beira, not an execution,” Angus says, laughing, quiet and warm. “Those are not always mutually exclusive.” I point out. That earns me a full laugh. “You’ll be fine,” he says as the carriage comes to a stop. “This is not court.” He steps out first, then offers me his hand as I follow him down. The entrance he leads me through is not the grand front approach used for court functions, but a smaller side entrance tucked into the eastern wing of the palace. It is quieter here, less ceremonial and far less intimidating. I suspect he chose this entrance hoping to ease my tension, but it does very little to calm me. Inside, the difference is immediate. The corridors here are no less elegant than the memories I possess of the rest of the palace, but they feel lived in, less like a monument to the Crown and more like a place people actually inhabit. Angus guides me through them with easy familiarity, one hand resting lightly at the small of my back. It is such a casual gesture that it takes me half the walk to realize I am leaning into it. We round a corner and head down the hall as a door ahead of us opens and a woman steps out. She is nearly as tall as Angus, with the same easy confidence in the way she carries herself, though where his presence tends toward warmth, hers is composed in a way that feels practiced. Her hair is a deep, warm red, similar to Angus’s but darker, and her green eyes are sharp in the sort of way that suggests very little escapes her notice. She takes one look at the two of us and stops. Her gaze moves from Angus, to me, to the hand still resting at the small of my back and one of her delicate brows lifts. “Well,” she says evenly. “That answers at least thr