The Next Morning
The dining hall smelled of roasted game and fresh-baked bread, but the air hung heavier than the plates on the table.
Deamon sat at the long polished table, his crimson eyes cool and unreadable. Across from him was King Velrick, dressed sharply, with a relaxed smile that never quite reached his eyes. Beside the king, his royal advisor sat older, sharp-boned, with pale green eyes and brown hair streaked with gray. The man's glare rarely left Deamon, as if studying every move he made.
The butler moved with precise steps, overseeing the maids as they placed the dishes neatly along the table.
Velrick was the first to speak.
"I trust the accommodations were to your liking? I hope you slept well."
Deamon offered a polite smile, lifting his glass.
"Perfectly, thanks to your majesty's hospitality."
Velrick's gaze flicked toward the empty seat beside Deamon.
"And your companion? I was expecting to see her at breakfast."
