The dining hall was absurd.
Long black table polished until it reflected the chandelier like dark water. Two place settings at opposite ends — far enough apart we might as well have been in different rooms. Silver cutlery that probably cost more than my old apartment. Crystal goblets already filled with red wine I hadn't asked for. Servants moved like ghosts: silent, efficient, placing platters then vanishing before I could even look at their faces.
Roast pheasant stuffed with chestnuts.
Glazed root vegetables carved into perfect roses.
Some kind of truffle risotto in individual porcelain bowls.
A cheese board bigger than my head.
Fresh figs split open, dripping honey.
Bread still warm, steam curling up like smoke signals.
Enough food for twelve people.
Just the two of us.
Kain sat at the far end, posture perfect, hands folded on the table. He hadn't touched anything yet. Neither had I.
The silence was suffocating.
