As Racheal heard the question, she paused mid-bite, her fork hovering just inches from her lips. A quiet sigh escaped her before she resumed eating as if nothing had happened.
'I expected this much,' she thought, her expression calm. 'After all, I'm not wearing my cloak.'
She'd taken it off earlier to wash up, and it hadn't dried enough to wear again. Besides, putting it back on would have defeated the purpose of cleaning herself. Back in Shantel, no one ever made a fuss about her being an elf, the cloak she always wore hid her features, and the people there had been too preoccupied with survival to care about what race she belonged to.
But the Imperial Guards were a different story. These were soldiers, rowdy, restless, and full of misplaced bravado. The kind that saw curiosity as entertainment.
