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Hector sat in the council room and thought about bread. Specifically, about the freshly baked loaf drizzled with honey and coated in toasted sesame seeds that was waiting for him at his desk. The kitchens had brought it up to him since he'd worked through the dinner banquet, but then the Queen had called her council together before he had time to take even one bite.
He'd left it, reluctantly, and wished now he'd brought it with him. He could be taking large bites of warm bread and licking the honey off his fingers as Alcides droned on about the placement of soldiers along the mountain passes. Hector had heard all of this before, had in fact taught Alcides defensive military strategy when he was a young soldier, and wasn't interested in revisiting it now.
Besides, it was fall. Sounis wasn't stupid enough to start a war now, with winter threatening. Hector told himself that soon this meeting would end. Soon he could sit in quiet, finish reading his reports, and eat his bread.
Finally, the council meeting ended. Hector dodged Alcides, exchanged nods with Ornon, and escaped the council room into a back hallway.
On the walk back to his office, Hector imagined the loaf of bread waiting for him. Biting through the chewy crust studded with seeds and into the soft, fluffy crumb. The sweetness of the honey would contrast perfectly with the savory grain. He walked faster in anticipation.
Hector locked his office door behind him and turned to his desk with the waiting bread. But his desk was empty. There were still scrolls and stacks of maps, but the board with his golden loaf now had only scattered crumbs and smears of honey.
His bread. Gone. Hector's mouth dropped open.
Then he frowned and looked around the small room with narrowed eyes as if checking that his bread hadn't wandered away while he was out. He walked over to the window and opened it, looking out on the dark rooftops and darker sky.
“Hello, Gen,” Hector said.
He spun around and Gen froze, caught crawling halfway out from behind the armchair in the corner. After an awkward moment, Gen stood and grinned up at his father.
“Enjoyed my bread, did you?” Hector said, his voice as dry as week-old crusts.
“Bread? What bread?”
Hector folded his arms.
Gen shrugged. “I don't know anything about bread.”
“You still have honey on your chin.”
Gen's hand went reflexively to his face and his father smirked.
“So, so. That bread.”
“Yes, that bread. My bread.” Hector shook his head, amused despite himself at his son's doubly sticky fingers. “Now go to the kitchens and get me another loaf.”
When Gen had gone, Hector sat down at his desk with a sigh. It was a coin toss whether the kitchens would have more fresh bread at this hour and, even if so, if Gen would return with it.
He looked sadly at the empty space where his bread had been. Absently, he put out a finger, ran it through the spare crumbs and honey spots, then brought it to his mouth. It was like the echo of a fading dream.