The food smelled wonderful.
Warm roasted beef glazed in rich herbs rested on the silver plate before Lily, steam curling softly into the air. Buttered vegetables glistened beside it, and the scent of rosemary, garlic, and unfamiliar spices filled the grand dining hall.
Yet no matter how beautiful it looked, Lily's heart was not in the meal.
Her thoughts still wandered back to the mountain cottage.
To Lucy's garden.
To the little bundles of herbs her mother used to pick every morning.
To the way every dish somehow tasted like warmth, laughter, and home.
Her stomach gave a small, embarrassing growl.
Even grief could not silence hunger forever.
Slowly, Lily lifted a bite of the roasted beef to her lips.
The moment she tasted it, her eyes widened.
It was tender—so soft it nearly melted on her tongue. Rich juices burst with flavor, mingling with spices so carefully blended that each bite felt layered with warmth and depth.
For a moment, despite herself, Lily forgot to be sad.
