"Not until it was too late."
Lucavion arched a brow.
Aeliana leaned forward slightly, smirking. "There was a banquet. A major diplomatic gathering. I was twelve."
Lucavion's smirk widened. "Oh, this is going to be good."
Aeliana ignored him, continuing, "My father had me seated next to some high-ranking officials. The food was extravagant, of course, carefully prepared by the best chefs in the region. But then—one of the foreign ambassadors praised a particular dish, calling it a specialty of his homeland."
Lucavion tilted his head. "And?"
Aeliana's smirk turned positively devilish. "And I, without thinking, corrected him."
Lucavion blinked. Then—he laughed. A real, warm chuckle that slipped out before he could stop it. "You corrected an ambassador? At twelve?"
