Caelith bent gracefully into a formal curtsey, her voice soft yet composed.
"My lord summons me—may I ask for what purpose?"
Dorian gave a faint smile, as though her question amused him.
"Must there be a reason for a husband to dine with his wife?" he replied lightly. Reaching out, he placed a piece of fish upon her plate with his own hand. "The household has been burdened of late, and you have borne much. Tonight, I instructed the kitchens to prepare dishes you favor the most."
Caelith lowered her gaze to the fish before her.
She did not lift her silverware.
It was Yvaine who loved fish—not her. She loved pork.
Yet she gave no sign of this, her expression remaining tranquil.
"My health has been unsteady these past days," she said instead, her tone measured. "I fear I cannot accompany my lord in wine. I ask your understanding."
Dorian paused, then spoke again, his voice carrying a trace of justification.
