Chapter Thirteen
A Seat at the Table
The dining hall reserved for the Citadel staff was nothing like the grand banquet rooms above.
There were no crystal chandeliers.
No gold-trimmed china.
No noble banners hanging from vaulted ceilings.
Instead, long oak tables stretched the length of the warm room, their scarred surfaces polished smooth by generations of shared meals. The scent of fresh bread, roasted vegetables, and beef stew drifted through the air while laughter echoed between the stone walls.
It felt...
Like home.
At least, Aveline imagined this was what home was supposed to feel like.
She stood hesitantly in the doorway.
Every instinct screamed at her to turn around.
Servants didn't eat with other servants.
Not in Ashmoor.
Meals were taken in silence, often standing, a
