Dinner unfolded more quietly than Luke expected, at least at first.
The long table was set with familiar elegance—polished wood, soft lanternlight, dishes arranged with the same deliberate care the elves applied to everything they did. King Vesryn and Queen Loreleia sat across from Luke and Ilyrana, their posture relaxed but attentive, as though this meal was less about formality and more about something long overdue.
For a time, they ate in silence. Not an awkward one—just a patient pause, the kind that waits for the right moment to speak.
It was Queen Loreleia who broke it.
"Luke," she said gently, setting her utensils aside. "If you would allow us… We wish to know you better."
Luke paused mid-motion, then slowly placed his own cutlery down. He had expected this question eventually. Still, hearing it asked so plainly made his chest tighten.
"You already know who I am," he said at first, almost reflexively.
