CHAPTER 75: DORM EATING [II]

The meal began with the soup. Freya lifted the pot carefully, her hands steady even though her face was still tight with nerves.

She ladled it into bowls one by one, the steam curling up between us. The smell of herbs and bread filled the room.

Redmane grabbed his bowl before she even set the ladle down. He sniffed once, shrugged, then raised the whole thing like a mug and drank.

"Redmane!" Freya snapped. "It is not ale."

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. "Soup is faster this way." He thumped the bowl back down, empty. "Not bad! Little salty. But not bad."

Nathan flinched at the noise, eyeing his own bowl. He dipped the spoon in carefully, blew on it once, then sipped. His brows rose a little. "...It’s fine."

"Fine?" I leaned forward, pointing at him. "That’s one step below ’good,’ which means we are climbing the ladder."

He rolled his eyes, but I caught the corner of his mouth twitch.

Across from him, Serena sat with perfect posture. Her spoon moved slowly and gracefully. She tasted the soup once, set the spoon down, and folded her hands neatly. No word. No change in her face.

Nyx flicked his tail, amused. "Cold as the bread before the oven."

Her eyes slid to him like ice. "At least I do not speak with my mouth full of fur."

Nyx pretended to gasp. "An insult! At the dinner table!"

Laughter broke out around us — Redmane booming, Nathan stifled, even Freya hiding a small smile behind her hand. Serena did not laugh. She returned to her soup, calm and silent.

The bread came next. I tore off a chunk, passed the board around. Redmane nearly broke his teeth biting into his piece, then laughed so hard he nearly choked.

"Hard as stone!" he roared. "But it fills the belly, and that’s all that matters!"

"It rose," Freya muttered defensively, her cheeks pink.

"And fell," I added helpfully.

She shot me a glare sharp enough to cut meat, but the nanny interrupted.

"The bread is heavy," she said, her voice even, "but it is food. That is what matters."

Redmane tore off another piece. "Bah! Heavy bread makes strong arms!" He flexed one for show, nearly knocking his cup over.

Nathan caught it just in time, muttering, "Careful."

The laughter rolled again, warmth spreading with the firelight and the food.

Nyx hopped up on the table now, ignoring Freya’s hiss of warning. He padded toward the bread, sniffed it, then sat right beside the board as if he owned it. "I will not eat this rock you call bread. But I will watch the rest of you try."

"Off the table," Freya ordered.

"I am part of the feast," Nyx replied, curling his tail smugly.

Redmane reached out, plucked the cat off the table like lifting a sack, and plopped him onto his lap. Nyx yowled, indignant, but Redmane just laughed and scratched behind his ears until the cat purred in spite of himself.

"You see?" Redmane said between chuckles. "Even cats know when they’ve been beaten."

"Impossible," Nyx muttered, though his eyes had gone half-lidded in pleasure.

Nathan actually laughed then — soft, quick, but real. He shook his head, spoon stirring slow circles in his half-finished soup.

The nanny watched it all quietly, her stern face easing little by little. At last she lifted her own spoon and tasted the soup. She did not say much, only, "It is warm." But the way her voice softened made Freya’s shoulders relax.

The chatter grew louder as bowls emptied and bread vanished. Redmane told a story about wrestling a boar that may or may not have been true.

Nathan corrected every part of the tale that made no sense, which only made Redmane add even wilder details. Nyx interrupted often, offering "improvements" that mostly made the beast sound like a pig with wings. Freya tried to keep order, but her scolding lost power each time she hid a laugh.

I leaned back, watching it all. The fire crackled, the room glowed, and for once, the air wasn’t heavy with battle or duty. It felt like family.

All except Serena.

She sat straight, quiet, eyes cool as glass. She did not join the laughter, did not argue, did not tease. She only ate in silence, every movement smooth, every word swallowed before it could rise.

When Redmane clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to shake the table, I glanced her way.

"Serena?" I asked. "What do you think?"

She met my gaze for a moment, calm and unreadable. Then she lowered her eyes to her bowl and said simply:

"It will do."

And that was all.

The others groaned or chuckled at her plain words, and the noise swept on, but I caught it — the faintest tightening at the corner of her mouth. Not a smile. Not warmth. But something.

The nanny noticed too. She didn’t say it aloud, but the way her gaze softened for a breath made it clear: she saw it.

So the night went on. Bowls emptied, bread dwindled, laughter rose and fell like waves. Even when the smoke lingered in the rafters, even when the bread crumbled like stone, no one cared.

For one meal, the war outside the walls, the weight of names, the clash of steel — all of it was gone.

There was only soup, bread, and voices filling the room.

***

Alaric showed up to the fountain early, exactly as promised. His uniform was immaculate, shoes polished so bright they could blind the unwary. He held himself tall, chin tilted just enough to look aristocratic without tipping into arrogance — exactly the way "North Star" had instructed him.

He was ready.At least, he thought he was.

Other nobles strolled by in small groups, laughing lightly, tossing glances his way. Some whispered, some barely looked at him at all. Alaric folded his hands behind his back, trying to appear calm, collected, confident. Just as he had practiced.

Any moment now, North Star would arrive. They would walk together into the Noble Etiquette Club, step through those polished doors, and begin what Alaric was certain would be the start of his great future.

But the minutes dragged.

Five. Ten. Fifteen. The fountain gurgled cheerfully in the background, mocking his growing unease.

Where was he?

Alaric’s smile began to strain at the edges, though he forced it to remain, even when a group of older nobles swept past with the practiced elegance of predators circling prey. He gave them a polite nod, just as he had been taught, and they dismissed him with the same glance they might give a fly hovering near their teacups.

He swallowed hard. He had been promised guidance. A mentor. Someone who knew the secret paths and hidden rules of this place.

And yet... he was waiting alone.