Chapter 191: The Silence Between Bites
Chapter 191: The Silence Between Bites
Elyn’s POV
I didn’t believe Zorathys nor the others who had conveniently chosen not to like the cutleries made for them at that moment...not even for a second.
Still...
I had to admit something to myself. I liked the attempt he had made. I liked that Zorathys was trying to make me feel comfortable.
And in a hall filled with ancient demon nobles who watched everything and forgave nothing—that mattered.
I turned my head slightly toward him.
He lounged in his chair like none of this concerned him, fingers loose around the stem of his wine glass, gaze half-lidded and unreadable.
Idiot.
Liar.
Infuriating demonic creature.
I gave him a small smile anyway and didn’t let my thoughts be known.
For a heartbeat, his eyes flicked toward me. Something shifted there—quick and subtle—before his expression flattened again into lazy indifference.
I looked down at my plate.
The simple fork and knife felt almost embarrassingly plain after the eleven weapons of polite society had been removed from relevance. But plain was good. Plain meant I could breathe.
I pressed the fork gently into the velari and used the knife to cut a small piece.
There was no slipping or scraping or any imagination of a skull laughing at me.
I lifted the bite and brought it to my mouth.
The glaze cracked softly between my teeth. The emberroot was tender, rich with heat and smoke, the blood-orange reduction sharp enough to cut through the earthiness without overpowering it. The nightspice lingered at the back of my tongue like a quiet ember.
It was good.
No—better than good.
I swallowed.
And only then did the others begin to eat.
It wasn’t obvious. But there was a shift—a ripple across the long table as forks lifted and knives descended almost in unison.
They had been waiting for me.
I focused on my plate and took another bite.
I noticed Draeven cut his portion with mechanical precision. Seraphielle lifted her fork delicately, posture perfect, expression composed. Ignivar’s movements were calm and economical, his gaze lowered respectfully to his plate.
And Zorathys—
Zorathys speared a piece of velari with his fork, inspected it as though it had personally offended him, and placed it into his mouth.
He chewed once.
Twice.
His expression shifted at that. There was a slight narrowing of his eyes. A faint downturn at the corner of his mouth.
He swallowed with visible reluctance. It was obvious to me that he didn’t like it. Kethra really had her work cut out for her in the quest of making foods Zorathys would like.
He set his fork down and pushed the plate away, choosing to drink from the wine glass instead.
He took a long sip of his wine and didn’t bother pretending to reach for another bite.
I wasn’t even surprised.
If anything, I was impressed he had tried at all.
The first course passed in near silence. The only sounds were the faint clink of cutleries against porcelain and the soft brush of fabric when someone shifted in their seat.
When I finished the last of the velari, I placed my fork and knife down carefully.
Almost immediately, I noticed something.
The nobles had arranged their plates identically.
Fork and knife aligned diagonally across the porcelain.
It took me a second to understand.
They were signaling they were done.
I adjusted mine to match.
A second later, the kitchen doors opened again.
The servants entered with the same measured grace, collecting the empty plates in smooth, synchronized movements.
It happened as though rehearsed a thousand times.
The second course arrived moments later.
This time, the plates were narrower and slightly deeper, the porcelain rim etched with faint silver veins that caught the candlelight.
Steam rose again—but the scent was different.
Cooler and sharper.
Each plate held a carefully arranged portion of sliced ash-river trout, its flesh pale silver with faint blue undertones. The fish rested atop a bed of charred frost fennel and thin strands of ember-thread greens. A dark glaze—almost black—had been brushed lightly across the surface, glistening without drowning the dish.
Beside it lay three small pearls of something translucent and faintly crimson.
Kethra stepped forward once more.
"The second course," she began smoothly, "is ash-river trout, caught at dawn where the waters meet the southern lava veins."
So the Thalassar territory.
Her hands were clasped neatly before her.
"The fish has been seared briefly over smokeless coal to preserve its texture, then brushed with reduced shadow-sap."
Shadow-sap.
That explained the dark glaze.
"It is accompanied by charred frost fennel and ember-thread greens for balance. The pearls are fermented heartfruit gel, aged one season."
Fermented heartfruit.
That would be the sharp scent beneath the smoke.
Kethra inclined her head slightly. "It is meant to cleanse the palate after the velari while maintaining warmth."
I glanced sideways at Zorathys.
He raised his glass in silent acknowledgement of the phrase, clearly unconcerned with cleansing anything.
The nobles waited again...for me.
I reached for my fork and knife.
This time my hand did not tremble.
The trout cut easily beneath the blade. The flesh flaked cleanly, delicate but not fragile. I paired it with a sliver of fennel and the smallest portion of the dark glaze before lifting it to my mouth.
The first taste was smoke.
Soft and restrained.
Then came the cool sweetness of the fish itself, followed by the bitterness of the fennel and the deep, almost resinous note of the shadow-sap.
It lingered differently than the first course.
Less heat.
More depth.
I tried one of the heartfruit pearls next.
It burst gently between my teeth, releasing a sharp, fermented brightness that cut through the smoke and left my tongue tingling.
I blinked and almost released a sound of appreciation like I normally did whenever Zorathys and I were eating together.
I had to pull myself together. I was in the presence of rulers of different territories; I couldn’t do that.
Instead, I put myself together...very demure, and I swallowed like the queen-to-be that I was.
I think I’m doing a good job at preparing to be queen of the demon realm. I may even like being here more than I like Aelthryn.
Only after I swallowed did the others begin eating...well, except Zorathys, who just pushed the plate aside, not even giving it a try.
The room settled into that same controlled rhythm.
Cut.
Lift.
Chew.
Swallow.
There was no sound except for that of the cutleries on the plate, and it bothered me. I thought this luncheon was a chance for the nobles to officially get to know me before the ball?
I glanced from face to face.
Seraphielle ate with the same elegant composure as before, expression serene. Draeven looked intensely focused on his plate, as though the trout required military strategy. Ignivar’s gaze remained lowered.
Caleth held his fork with careful precision, movements slow but exact.
Even Aurelixa was quiet and composed.
I swallowed another bite and felt something tighten in my chest.
Why wasn’t anyone speaking?
This was a luncheon, wasn’t it?
A gathering.
An introduction.
They had watched me eat. They had waited for my signal to begin. They had matched my plate placement.
But no one was talking.
No one asked me anything.
No one commented on the food.
No one even made polite conversation about the weather beyond the volcanic terraces.
It was just—
Silence.
The scrape of porcelain.
The soft inhale and exhale of measured breathing.
I glanced at Zorathys again.
He caught my look this time.
One brow lifted slightly in question.
I hesitated.
Then I set my fork down.
The sound, though quiet, felt loud in the stillness.
Several pairs of eyes lifted.
I cleared my throat.
"Is... something wrong?"
The words slipped out before I could reconsider them.
Draeven blinked like I had just spoken in an entirely different language.
Seraphielle turned toward me fully, her smile appearing as if summoned by command.
"Wrong?" she echoed gently. "Why would you think something is wrong, Your Highness?"
Because you’re all acting like statues.
Because this feels less like a luncheon and more like an examination.
Because I can hear my own breathing.
I forced myself to speak evenly.
"You’re not saying anything."
Silence.
Draeven looked between Seraphielle and Ignivar as if searching for guidance.
Seraphielle tilted her head slightly. "We are eating."
"Yes," I said. "But isn’t the luncheon for you all to get to know me?"