Breakfast was a performance.
The dining room was long and modern with a table that could seat thirty and windows running the full length of one wall, showing the valley below in sharp morning light. Everything about the space was designed to remind you who owned it, from the art on the walls to the weight of the silverware to the way the chairs were positioned so that whoever sat at the head could see every face without turning.
Caspian sat at the head.
I sat to his right.
And every other seat was occupied by someone who wanted me gone.
They did not say it, of course not. They simply smiled and introduced themselves and said things like "how lovely to meet you" and "what a surprise" and "we've heard so much about you" in voices that managed to make every pleasant word sound like a thr
