The dining hall was already lit when Aire entered. For some reason, she was always the last to walk in.
Golden light spilled from the chandeliers above, reflecting softly against polished marble floors and the long stretch of dark oak that dominated the center of the room. The table was set with precision—silverware aligned, glasses untouched, and plates waiting.
Everything looked beautiful without comfort.
Aire paused at the entrance.
Her fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of her dress before she forced them to relax. Her expression smoothed over, composed, and controlled.
She hasn't been able to relax since she woke up. She feared words might get to the next person about her fae blood, and any moment from now, she'd be killed.
She stepped inside.
The sound of her heels against the floor echoed faintly, drawing attention before she even reached the table.
