Chapter 219. Does She Ever Eat Like This, or Is She as Hollow as I Was Taught to Be?
Lia nodded once, a sharp gesture, and took another bite. She kept her eyes on the bread, focusing on the simple mechanics of eating, trying to convince herself that this feeling, this ache in her chest, was merely a physical reaction to the unfamiliarity.
But as she listened to the low murmur of William’s and Catherine’s conversation resuming, she knew she was lying to herself. The warmth of the room was beginning to seep through her defenses, and for the first time in her life, the cold was starting to feel unbearable.
Dinner unfolded with a slow, deliberate gentleness, the kind of unhurried intimacy William hadn’t realized his soul was starving for until he was finally sitting within its embrace.
The air in the dining room felt different now; the sharp edges of the day had been blunted by the amber glow of candlelight and the steady, comforting rhythm of shared presence.
Catherine was a maestro of atmosphere. She navigated the conversation like she navigated a battlefield, but instead of seeking weaknesses, she sought connection.
She kept her questions light, harmless questions about Lia’s training progress or the mundane details of academy life, weaving them around embarrassing stories from her own youth.
She told tales of her early days as a knight, stories of clumsy footwork, misjudged parries, and the sheer, mortifying terror of realizing she was woefully unprepared for real combat.
"You actually tripped over your own scabbard in front of the entire graduating class?" Lia asked.
The question was startling. The disbelief coloring her voice wasn’t the sharp edge of mockery but something softer, a genuine curiosity that breached her usual defensive perimeter.
"In front of the entire graduating class and several visiting dignitaries who were there to assess our potential," Catherine confirmed with exaggerated solemnity, though her eyes danced with mischief. "I managed to make a spectacular show of it."
"I didn’t just trip, but... I performed a full, uncontrolled somersault into a decorative urn." Catherine laughed. "I did not live that down for months."
Lia’s lips twitched. "I find that difficult to reconcile with the reputation of the White Knight of Astoria."
"Because the White Knight never fell into pottery?" Catherine laughed, the sound warm and rich. "Everyone starts somewhere considerably less impressive, Lia."
"Even Grand Swordmasters have days where they feel like they’re fighting their own equipment rather than an enemy... Though, I’ve never had the nerve to ask your sister about her own embarrassing early failures."
The shift in the room was instantaneous.
The name Seraphina acted like a sudden drop in temperature. Lia went quiet, but it wasn’t the brittle, defensive silence William had grown accustomed to during their training sessions.
When she had been defensive, her body became a coiled spring, shoulders squared, jaw locked, eyes scanning for exits. Now, she simply... retreated inward.
Something softer crossed her expression, something fragile and achingly tender that she couldn’t quite hide. It was a shadow of grief, a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like longing.
’Seraphina,’ Lia thought, her fingers tracing the rough texture of the linen napkin. ’She was always the perfect one...’
’The one who never tripped...’
’The one who never bled...’
’The one who never needed this...’
Lia’s mind drifted back to the few moments of genuine connection she had shared with her sister before the academy had stripped away their humanity.
She remembered the way Seraphina’s hair had smelled like jasmine and the rare, unguarded smiles she would give when they were alone.
But those memories were now tainted by the terrifying reality of who Seraphina had become a woman who commanded with ice and ruled with iron.
’Does she ever eat like this?’ Lia wondered bitterly. ’Does she ever sit around a table and laugh until her sides ache? Or is she as hollow as I was taught to be?’
"Lia?" William asked quietly, his voice cutting through her spiral.
He had noticed the way her gaze had gone distant, the way her hands had gone still. "You okay?"
Lia blinked, forcing herself back to the present. She looked at William, then at Catherine, who was watching her with those keen, empathetic eyes that seemed to read the unspoken.
"I am fine," Lia said, though her voice lacked its usual conviction. "I was simply... remembering."
"Memories can be dangerous things," William said gently, not pushing, but offering a steady anchor. "But sometimes, they’re the only things that remind us why we’re fighting to survive in the first place."
Catherine reached across the table, not touching Lia but placing her hand near enough that the warmth was felt. "Tonight isn’t about remembering what was lost, Lia."
"It’s about appreciating what’s here right now."
Lia looked down at her plate. The bread was still warm and the wine still smelled of grapes and earth.
For a moment, she allowed herself to believe Catherine. She allowed herself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, she could exist in this space not as a weapon, not as an asset, but as a girl who deserved to sit at a table and feel full.
The meal continued, but the dynamic had shifted into something almost unbearably intimate. Catherine, emboldened by the success of her culinary gambit, seemed to have forgotten or perhaps chosen to ignore that they had a guest.
Her attention began to drift between Lia and William in a way that was both unconscious and profoundly affectionate.
"William, pass me the salt, would you?" Catherine asked, but as he handed it to her, she didn’t simply take it.
Instead, her fingers lingered against his palm, and she gave his hand a small, tender squeeze. "And thank you for helping with the bread... I think you actually managed to make it edible tonight."
William grinned, that lopsided, infuriatingly charming smile that always seemed to make Catherine’s eyes brighten. "Only tonight? I’ll have to work harder tomorrow then."
"I can’t have you thinking I’ve retired from my baking career." He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper that wasn’t quite quiet enough. "Though, between us, I think I did most of the heavy lifting while you were busy playing with the garnishes."
"Heavy lifting?! Oh, please~!" Catherine scoffed playfully, reaching out to poke him in the chest. "All you did was knead the dough like you were trying to intimidate it into rising."
"It worked, didn’t it?" William countered, catching her hand mid-poke and holding it.
He didn’t let go. "Admit it, you love my aggressive kneading technique."
"I love your terrible jokes, William... The kneading is negotiable."
Lia watched them. She watched the way their bodies naturally gravitated toward one another, the way their eyes locked in a silent language of shared history and affection.
She watched the way William reached over to brush a stray crumb from Catherine’s cheek, his touch lingering just a second too long to be accidental. It was a dance of vulnerability, a display of two people who felt safe enough to be soft in each other’s presence.
And as she watched, the ache returned.
It wasn’t a sharp pain, not like the sting of a training blade or the burn of a muscle tear. It was a hollow, gnawing emptiness that started in the center of her chest and radiated outward until her entire body felt fragile.
’This is what it looks like,’ Lia thought, her throat tightening. ’This is what... home... is supposed to feel like.’
Her mind betrayed her again, dragging her back to the only version of ’home’ she had ever known. In the academy’s dormitory wings, meals were not events; they were logistical necessities.
She remembered sitting on the edge of a narrow, iron-framed cot, the only light coming from a flickering candle that cast dancing, grotesque shadows against the stone walls.
She remembered eating alone, in the dark, chewing on tasteless protein paste while listening to the distant, muffled sounds of other students, none of whom spoke to her and none of whom cared if she ate at all.
There had been no laughter in those rooms. There had been no one to poke fun at a failed recipe or share a conspiratorial wink.
There was only the silence, the cold, and the crushing realization that you were alone in your struggle. In those moments, food hadn’t been nourishment; it had been a reminder of her isolation.
A tear pricked at the corner of her eye, and she blinked rapidly, terrified that any sign of emotion would break the fragile peace she was trying to maintain. She focused intensely on her plate, her fork scraping against the ceramic with a sound that seemed deafening in her own ears.
’Eat,’ she commanded herself. ’Just eat...’
’Don’t acknowledge the hollow...’
’Don’t acknowledge that you’re jealous of a feeling you’ve never been allowed to own...’
"Lia, you’re quiet again," Catherine said gently.
She hadn’t been ignoring Lia; she had simply been caught up in the warmth of the moment, but her instinct to care remained razor sharp. "Is everything alright? Is the food too much?"
Lia looked up, forcing her breathing to steady. "No, Vice Headmaster... The food is perfect."
"More than perfect." Her voice wavered slightly before she steadied it. "I am simply... taking it all in."
"You can call me Catherine here," Catherine giggled. "No more formalities when you’re outside the academy, okay?"
"Yes..."
William looked at Lia, then at Catherine, his expression softening with understanding. He didn’t ask what she was taking in, but he didn’t need to.
He could see the ghost of something old and painful flickering behind her eyes.
"Sometimes," William said quietly, breaking the sudden tension, "it takes a while to get used to things being good."
’You spend so long waiting for the other shoe to drop that you forget how to just... sit."