Nevara
The dining room wasn’t formal tonight—no crystal goblets or stiff protocol, just a fire crackling in the hearth and trays of roasted meat, vegetables, and still-warm bread spread down the center of the long table. It almost felt normal.
If anything in a castle full of secrets could ever feel normal.
Michelle plopped down across from me with the energy of a squirrel on sugar, grinning like we were back at the cupcake shop instead of the king’s personal table.
“So,” she said, spearing a roasted carrot with her fork. “How’s training going? You still kicking ass and taking names?”
I snorted, tearing a piece of bread in half. “Something like that.”
Thoren glanced at me from his seat beside me—expression unreadable, but I could feel the subtle shift in his attention. Always listenin
