Chapter 4: The Table Between Them
The dining hall was vast, but empty.
Alaida sat at one end, dressed in pale silks that felt too fine for her skin. Her hair had been brushed until it gleamed like silver thread, and a circlet of crystal leaves rested lightly on her brow. She felt like a ghost in someone else's story.
Thalion sat at the other end, his posture regal, his expression unreadable. The firelight danced across his bronze skin, casting shadows beneath his cheekbones. He hadn't spoken since she entered.
The table between them was set with dishes she didn't recognize—roasted fruits, meats glazed in gold spice, bread braided like vines. Alaida didn't touch them.
Thalion did not eat.
He watched.
"You look different," he said at last.
Alaida blinked. "I was bathed."
He nodded once. "You are quiet."
"I don't know what to say."
"Most people speak too much."
Alaida lowered her gaze. "I'm not most people."
Silence.
Then, softly: "Why did you choose me?"
Thalion's eyes narrowed. "I didn't."
She looked up, startled.
"I went to hunt," he said. "I found you. That is not the same."
Alaida's fingers curled around the edge of her seat. "Then why bring me here?"
Thalion leaned back, his cloak shifting like a lion's mane. "Because something in you unsettled me."
She swallowed. "My dirt?"
"No." His voice was quiet now. "Your softness."
Alaida didn't know what to say. She felt the weight of his gaze, the tension in the air, the way the palace seemed to hold its breath around them.
"I'm not strong," she whispered.
Thalion's eyes flickered. "Not yet."