The dining hall of Evandale was alive with warmth, though the hour was late. A long oak table stretched across the chamber, polished so bright that candle flames shimmered upon its surface. Platters of roasted fowl rested between dishes of buttered carrots, honeyed bread, and stewed pears, their sweetness mingling with the sharp scent of cloves in the air. Servants moved softly about, clearing goblets and trays, while a faint fire crackled at the far hearth.
At the head of the table sat Seraphine's body though tonight, it was not the quiet duchess who carried herself with poise, but the other presence that had begun to surface more often. She sat casually, spoon in hand, lips stained with pear syrup, talking at such speed that one wondered if she ever paused for breath.
Across from her stood Elric, ever composed, a glass of red wine untouched in his hand. His posture never wavered, his eyes sharp but calm as they always were when he listened to this side of his lady.
