EVELARA
The palace dining hall was too grand for comfort. Sunlight poured through crystalline windows, scattering across polished silver and steaming platters of food I couldn’t name. Servants glided in and out like wraiths, silent, efficient, as though the clinking of my spoon against porcelain was the loudest sin committed that morning.
I’d grown used to eating alone and quiet with not many people hovering over, in Shadowfang. Here, I was seated among people seemingly dislike me to their core for Goddess knows whatever reason.
Lucien Virek was as usual, silent, unreadable, cutting through his steak as though the blade was slicing through more than meat. I wonder how a man looks so elegant while cutting meat?
His brother, Leonel, leaned lazily in his chair, but his electric
