The dining was peaceful, servants quietly refilling their wine glasses as they ate.
Everything was supposed to be perfect, but not with Elian.
He felt so out of place, and not once had his legs stopped bouncing under the table. He subtly glanced around, alert, just in case he needed to flee or beg.
He wasn't used to being served, and what made it worse was the way Lucien acted like everything was just as it should be.
However, all those were internal, but outside, Elian looked composed, as if he wasn't constantly pulled by an invisible magnet toward the Duke at the head of the table.
He focused intently on his plate—cutting the bacon with precise, sharp movements—to avoid looking at Lucien or Rowan.
"Do you like the bacon?" Rowan asked gently.
Elian nodded, not speaking as he still had his mouth filled with food.
