Dinner was unusually quiet.
The long dining hall, always filled with soft clinks of silverware and low conversation, now carried a tension that pressed like fog against every wall.
The candle flames wavered slightly, their glow doing little to soften the invisible ice layering the atmosphere.
Draven sat at the head of the table, as always, regal and unreadable. Meredith was on his right, yet he didn't spare her a single glance.
Not a word. Not even the simple courtesy of placing food on her plate, as he usually did since the new sitting arrangement.
His jaw was set, his eyes fixed on his meal, and the cold air between them was sharper than any blade.
Meredith sat rigid, her shoulders squared in false calm. But her knuckles, wrapped tightly around her utensils, betrayed her composure.
She hadn't touched much of her food, and she didn't need anyone to guess why. Draven's silence was louder than shouting.
Everyone noticed.
