“How protective,” he murmurs.
Oberon’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You could call it that.”
The tension stretches.
Lord Ferngull smiles again, as if nothing at all has happened, and sets the bracelet back onto the cloth.
“As you wish,” he says smoothly. “I wouldn’t want to overstep.”
But his eyes return to me almost immediately.
“You must forgive me,” he continues, his tone shifting into something more conversational, more inviting. “It’s rare to encounter someone so… intriguing.”
My pulse picks up again.
At a subtle gesture from Lord Ferngull, the servants move in.
They don’t ask. They simply begin placing food onto our plates with quiet precision, each motion practiced, almost… rehearsed. The dishes are vibrant, arranged with an attention to detail that feels more deliberate than necessary.
A slice of roasted squash rests onto my plate, its edges caramelized to a deep golden brown, glistening faintly with oil and herbs. Beside it, a medley of vegetables. There’s bright peppers, deep green leaves, something pale and delicate I don’t recognize, all are arranged in careful balance. A small portion of grains follows, soft and fragrant, infused with something sweet and unfamiliar.
The scent is rich. Warm. Inviting.
I glance down the length of the table, taking in the spread. There’s more of the same. Beautifully prepared dishes, layered with color and texture, but all of it drawn from the earth. Fruits split open to reveal jewel-bright centers, vegetables roasted and glazed, breads brushed with oil and herbs.
No meat.
Not a single trace of it.
“No meat?” Sylvian asks the question I’d just been wondering about, raising an eyebrow as he picks up a piece of roasted squash with his fork. The texture looks delectable, and I can almost taste the flavors bursting with the warmth of spices.
Lord Ferngull dabs at his mouth with a napkin, swallowing a bite of food, and gives a small chuckle. “Meat is difficult to come by in the labyrinth,” he explains, his tone light. “The creatures here are… unpredictable, to say the least. Hunting them often results in more trouble than it’s worth. We’ve adapted to a plant-based diet, and I must say, it’s grown on us. Besides, it’s better for the soul, don’t you think?”
Sylvian nods slowly, though I notice a faint crease in his brow. “I suppose it would be. It’s certainly better than starving,” he says, his tone neutral but thoughtful.
The conversation shifts as we eat, and I’m struck by how delicious the food is. The flavors are bright and full, each dish perfectly seasoned and balanced, a rich explosion of tastes that dance on my tongue. The roasted squash is sweet and savory,while the other vegetables are fresh and vibrant. It’s a far cry from the dried rations and foraged scraps we’ve been surviving on. Despite my lingering unease, I find myself savoring each bite, the warmth of the food spreading through me.
As we talk, Sylvian’s questions grow more pointed, his curiosity evident. “You mentioned earlier that these were once your lands,” he says, his tone casual, though his green eyes gleam with intent. “Do you remember attending the ball at the House of Earth a century or so ago? The one celebrating the god of nature? It was quite the event.”
Lord Ferngull leans back slightly, his expression warm and nostalgic. “Ah, yes,” he says, his voice tinged with fondness. “A splendid affair. The decorations alone were breathtaking, and the music… unforgettable.” His eyes sparkle as he continues. “I remember dancing with a particularly enchanting lady that evening. What a night that was.”
Sylvian hums in agreement, leaning back in his chair, the way he holds himself relaxed yet alert. “And the celebration at the House of Air? Surely you remember the fireworks?”
“Of course,” Lord Ferngull replies smoothly, and the ease in his voice is both charming and disconcerting. “A masterpiece of light and color. I’ve never seen anything quite like it since.”
I glance at Sylvian, noticing the subtle tension in his posture. I get the sense that he’s probing, testing, but Lord Ferngull’s answers are flawless. If Sylvian is trying to catch him in a lie, he’s not succeeding. Still, there’s a trace of suspicion in Sylvian’s expression that he makes no effort to hide, his mouth twitching as though he’s resisting the urge to say more.
Throughout the meal, Lord Ferngull’s attention drifts back to me, his compliments frequent. “Lady Alette,” he says at one point, his gaze unwavering, “your strength and beauty are truly remarkable. It’s no wonder you’ve captivated such formidable company.”
The air around the table shifts, a palpable tension rising like steam.
Oberon leans back slightly. “You’re not the only one who sees her as strong and beautiful. Any fool would notice those facts.”
“Of course,” Lord Ferngull says, inclining his head graciously. “My apologies if I implied otherwise. Strength and beauty are a rare combination, and Lady Alette possesses both in abundance.”
I force a small smile, unsure of how to respond.
The conversation shifts again until I feel like I can relax a little again. Hopefully, this Lord Ferngull is starting to understand that he should keep his distance from me. The chatter is lighter, but careful, every word considered before spoken.
