The candles in the dining room had burned low, casting long, dancing shadows against the velvet wallpaper. The long table, usually a place of conversation, felt like a vast ocean separating Ines from the other end of the room.
It was already night. The windows were pitch black, reflecting the interior of the room.
Ines sat at the table. She picked at her roast chicken with a silver fork. Across from her sat Aunt Rowena, who was eating her meal with a hearty appetite, unbothered by the silence.
But the chair at the head of the table was empty.
Ines looked at the empty seat. The crystal goblet was untouched. The napkin was still folded into a crisp swan.
She put her fork down. The metallic clink echoed in the quiet room.
"Where is he?" Ines asked softly.
She looked at Aunt Rowena. She didn't need to say a name. There was only one person missing.
Rowena wiped her mouth with a napkin. She sighed, a sound that was half-sympathy and half-resignation.
