The words had barely left my mouth when a male in formal attire stepped through the doorway. He stood before me with his head slightly bowed in deference, his posture that of a wolf acknowledging superior rank.
It was Garrick Pineward, the Lodge Marshal of Pinecrest. I had encountered him once before when arranging the private chamber for this gathering.
I kept my eyes fixed on Selene, but my words were directed at him with easy familiarity.
"Your restricted reserve menu—prepare every dish on it."
"And bring two bottles of your finest aged moonwine. The rarest vintage you have."
Garrick said nothing. He simply dipped his chin in acknowledgment and withdrew from the chamber.
Everyone in the room went still. Even Selene's eyes widened with disbelief.
Then, in the next heartbeat, she threw her head back and laughed until she nearly doubled over.
"You really cannot stop pretending, can you?" She wiped at her eyes, still shaking with mirth. "My mate and I have dined at this lodge more than ten times. There is no restricted reserve menu. Could you at least prepare your lies before you speak them?"