Vaeloria's voice threaded easily through the low murmur of the table in a calm, unhurried, and inviting tone which somehow made it worse.
Lucrezia felt the hitch in her breath, the instinctive tightening in her chest a second too late. The weight of the name pressed against her ribs, not because it was false, but because it had never belonged to her. Anastasia would have answered with cool indifference, as though being summoned by a lesser god was an interruption rather than an honor.
So she caught herself before it reached her face, lowering her knife with care and wiping her fingers against the linen before she lifted her head.
"Yes," she said.
The words came out in a cool, measured tone, but the effort it took sent a faint tremor through her heart. Gods, she needed to breathe.
