The dining hall was alive with the soft hum of crystal clinking and the mellow crackle of torches. Gold light spilled across the long table, glinting off silverware, bouncing off gilded goblets, and somehow, amplifying the quiet tension that hung in the air like perfume gone sour.
Aurelia stepped in, her gown whispering against the marble floor. The chatter dimmed slightly. She could feel their eyes — Lady Miranda's sharp gaze that sliced, Ophelia's careful watchfulness, General Rael's glance or gaze, and finally, Malion's dark, unreadable stare from the head of the table.
He looked annoyingly calm, as though he hadn't nearly terrified an entire training ground just this evening.
Aurelia's lips twitched into a brittle smile. He acts like nothing happened, she thought, taking her seat as if she didn't feel the weight of the air between them.
