"I assume the food meets your standards?" Flio asked, his voice cracking like a dry twig. He was puring a glass of wine for Cherion.
For some reason, Flio was the one who attended to him. He was standing with his shoulders hunched, looking for all the world like a man waiting for a ceiling tile to crush him
"It doesn't taste like sawdust and disappointment, if that's what you're asking," Cherion replied, popping a piece of the chicken into his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring the richness. "It's almost like the kitchen staff remembered I have a pulse. Or maybe they just ran out of the grey sludge they usually save for me."
Flio let out a breath that was half-sigh, half-shudder. He set the wine glass down with a trembling hand. "Lord Cherion, I must apologize. Deeply. For everything. The recent 'lapses' in your hospitality have been addressed. Quite violently, I'm afraid."
Cherion raised a brow. "Violently?"
