Empty. The dining hall was entirely devoid of any broody Alphas. Cherion stood at the threshold, his footsteps sounding suspiciously loud on the polished floor, like a drumbeat in a tomb. He'd half-expected to see Zarius at the head of the table, perhaps nursing a cup of tea and looking vaguely murderous at the morning light. Instead, there was just a spread of bread, salted meats, and silence.
"Where is the Duke?" Cherion asked, not bothering to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He glanced over his shoulder at Soren, who was standing respectful, yet somehow suffocating, distance away.
"The Duke's health has been… precarious of late, My Lord," Soren replied, his voice as smooth as silk and twice as cold. "He typically takes his morning meal in his private chambers."
Cherion nodded, picking at a piece of crusty bread. Routine. Right. In the novel, Zarius was basically a ghost in his own castle, a man waiting for his heart to stop or his mind to snap, whichever came first.
