Elara had always despised talking at the table. Whenever the knights had tried to speak while eating, she would coldly shut them down, stating flatly that speaking with food in one's mouth was unhygienic, that micro-particles of saliva and debris could fly out, and that it introduced unnecessary noise into a basic biological function.
But right now, sitting at the long walnut breakfast table, Julian was talking. He was rambling about northern poetry, mocking the court architects, and throwing out his usual lazy, bitter sarcasms. And Elara just sat there. She didn't interrupt him once. She didn't lecture him on hygiene or efficiency.
