20

"Good morning, Zara," I said as I opened the door for her to the dining room, and then I sat and stared at her breakfast. Her hands were wrapped around a cup of tea, but her eyes wouldn't flinch away from mine.

"Morning," she muttered back, barely above a whisper.

I sprawled in the chair across from her, watching the tension in her form, her shoulders making this painful bowing, like she could make herself small enough to go away. I hated it.

Didn't that just explain she refused to look my way? After what she'd seen me do yesterday, I knew she was still so angry at me. It was her right to be, but still, I had to try. I had to make things right.

"C'mon, you need to eat something," I coaxed, softly. "You've hardly taken a bite out of that."

Finally, she looked up; those eyes were cold—ice-like, just like the stare she had been giving me since she stormed into the study yesterday. "I'm not hungry."