Dinner was a quiet affair. The only sounds were the soft clinking of silverware against porcelain and the occasional sigh from the fireplace. Darius didn't try to talk to me, and I didn't try to talk to him. It was better that way. Every conversation we had felt like a chess match, and I was tired of being his pawn.
After dinner, I retreated to the chambers, my mind a tangled mess. I went straight to the window, looking out at the dark, manicured gardens. The moon was full, casting a silver light over the perfectly pruned hedges. It was beautiful, but it was a cold, sterile kind of beautiful. A prison garden.
