"I like Cynthia."
The words stayed on the table with more weight than Trafalgar had put into them.
He had said them plainly, without ceremony, without a speech prepared in noble language. That was probably why they struck harder. Cynthia froze beside her plate, her fingers still curled around the edge of her cup, while Mayla and Aubrelle received the statement with a calm that made Cynthia feel, rather unfairly, as if she were the only person in the room discovering the obvious.
Mayla was the first to answer.
"We can see that," she said, not unkindly. Her gaze moved from Trafalgar to Cynthia, and the warmth in it softened the blow of embarrassment. "I imagine that is why you brought her here in the first place. Though she already told us about her feelings herself, which I appreciate."
Cynthia's cheeks heated at once.
