-Lucien Draven:
The tension at the dining table was non-existent.
Ronan wasn't avoiding my gaze. He wasn't acting stiff or fidgeting or glaring at me like I'd done something to piss him off. No, he was acting as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't straddled me during training, as if we hadn't nearly crossed some invisible line neither of us was ready to acknowledge.
And I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
I watched him between bites of food, studying the way he ate—calm, composed, completely unaffected. Elara, on the other hand, kept glancing between us like she was waiting for something to happen. But Ronan was too good at pretending. Too damn good at acting like the past couple of hours did not even exist.
Fine. If he wanted to pretend, I could pretend, too. Two can play that game.
I focused on my plate, pushing around the stew Elara had prepared. It wasn't much—whatever supplies we had left—but it was warm, and it was enough.
I will have to go to the village soon.
