Her gaze swept the room once.
She saw the way some of them trembled, the sheen of sweat along hairlines, the white-knuckle grips on trays and platters. She also saw something else now, tucked under the fear: awareness. Focus. The understanding that their lives were tied to the whims of the woman at the head of the table—and that this woman was, for once, 'paying attention'.
"Good," she said. "Keep doing your jobs. Don't be stupid."
She paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And tell the kitchens to send a pot of this tea to my study later. The good one, not the cheap leaves they used to give Celeste when they thought she was too drunk to notice."
The head steward's eyes widened for a heartbeat, then he bowed again. "At once, Your Majesty."
Heena turned and walked toward the doors.
