Chapter 37
“Wait, wait, wait—you did what!?” Evelyn’s fork clattered against her porcelain plate, her breakfast completely forgotten.
“I punched him,” Arden repeated flatly. She sat down at the table, reaching for a piece of toast with her left hand while her right, bruised, swollen, and already taking on a nasty shade of violet, rested gingerly on the white linen tablecloth.
The three-minute walk from the training barracks to the royal dining room had apparently been the most eventful commute in the history of the castle. Evelyn stared at her friend’s hand, her mouth hanging open in a state of pure, clinical shock.
Eileen, on the other hand, did not share her sister’s reaction to the situation. After one brief moment of shock, she let out a snort that rapidly degenerated into a fit of
