The platters gradually emptied as the evening progressed, tension giving way to comfortable silence. David finished his final bite, setting down his cutlery with the precise movement of someone accustomed to both battlefield precision and noble etiquette. Shay remained victorious on his lap, now curled against his chest like a contented cat claiming its territory.
David stroked her auburn hair with absent affection, his thoughts already shifting to matters beyond the dining room's intimate battlefield. The others had accepted temporary defeat, retreating into their own thoughts as servants silently cleared the remains of the feast.
"Seraphina," David said finally, breaking the contemplative quiet. "Your report on the Chamber of the Whisper's Creed."
