"Welcome to Moonlight Rest," one of them said with a courteous smile. "Table for two?"
"Yes," Isolde answered with the easy confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before.
Oliver, on the other hand, stood there stiffly, glancing around like he'd just walked into a noble's mansion by mistake.
The host led them to a private corner table draped in white linen. The chairs were cushioned and far too comfortable for Oliver's liking — as though they were designed to lull you into spending more money.
~~~~~
The menu was next.
Oliver frowned at the leather-bound booklet, scanning the contents with growing unease.
"Truffled basilisk stew… Bloodhawk egg omelet… wyvern tail roast…" he muttered, trying to sound them out under his breath. "Who the hell eats this stuff?"
"You do," Isolde said smoothly, already handing her menu back to the waiter.
"What did you even order?" Oliver asked suspiciously.
"You'll see." She smirked. "Trust me, it'll be good."
