The seating chart swallowed the entire wall of the small parlor, and standing dead center, clutching a piece of charcoal in her hand, was Eva—her eyes bloodshot from a severe lack of sleep.
"The Dwarven King absolutely cannot sit near the fire dragons," she muttered without looking back, dragging a thick red arrow from one box to another. "The copper dragon cannot sit anywhere near glassware. The Luminara envoys can't be placed near anything that smells like smoked meat, because Ignis brought ten crates of the stuff and the stench has already permeated the entire west wing."
"I have a question," Roland announced from the doorway, holding a tray of tea.
"No," Eva cut him off instantly, still not turning around.
"Why are you the one organizing this?" Roland asked, refusing to back down.
