I inclined my head lightly at Alfred. “Forgive me. I came in a rush and brought nothing.”
Alfred smiled. “I’ve already seen to it. There’s no need for apologies.”
Kael led me to the table. The seats were arranged so we faced each other directly. It was deliberate, a statement I did not need explained.
I released his hand and took my place across from him. Kael’s expression shifted for a moment, a subtle tightening around his eyes, but he said nothing. He sat beside Via instead, leaving a calculated space between us.
The unspoken judgment of the room pressed down on me. I had never truly belonged here. I had tried—careful gifts, gestures of respect, observing every rite, every tradition—but it had never been enough. Never recognized from the heart. I had been blind until now.
I did not speak. I ate in silence, tasting the food but feeling no warmth, no belonging.
Kael, by contrast, moved with the ease of a man born to command. He peeled small prawns for Via, his hands steady, precise. Normally he scorned such effort, letting subordinates handle it, finding the work beneath him. Yet tonight, he complained not once. When he finished, he cleaned his hands deliberately, every motion measured.