Duke remained silent.
Lis quickly glanced up at him. That gaze carried a certain secretive expectation—perhaps anticipating resonance, perhaps hoping for camaraderie.
She lowered her voice, almost whispering:
"I haven't heard of anyone from Black Sail being invited either... so I thought, perhaps you too—"
"Hmm." Duke replied.
Lis was stunned.
Her amber eyes were fixed on him, as if trying to read a trace of a crack on that calm face—discontent, disappointment, bitterness, or even just mild discomfort.
Nothing at all.
He picked up a napkin to dab his lips, the gesture as composed as if practicing a magic spell a thousand times.
Then he placed the napkin back on the table and took a sip from the wine glass.
The sunlight outside was just right, and the elf brew refracted flowing golden rays in the crystal glass.
Lis bit her fork and, after a moment, softly asked:
"Are you... not angry?"
"Why be angry?"
Lis was speechless.
