Dinner

Elijah hovered in his crib as they were led into the private dining room, the soft hum of the hover stroller a quiet counterpoint to the elegant murmur of the restaurant. The doors parted smoothly, revealing a space where wealth and power coiled together in a carefully curated display of status.

At the center of it all sat a woman who bore a striking resemblance to his mother—if you drained the vitality out of her and added a few more years. His grandmother, Elijah presumed. She had the same golden hair, the same piercing blue eyes, but where his mother's features were sharp and commanding, Angelica's were softer, less defined. Still beautiful, but in a way that spoke of preservation rather than natural magnetism. She held her drink with effortless grace, fingers wrapped around the crystal as if it were an extension of her authority. She did not rise to greet them.

His grandfather, however, stood as they entered. His expression shifted into a polite smile, the kind that felt more like a social obligation than genuine warmth. From his perch in the crib, Elijah noted the tiredness behind it, but he didn't dig deeper. He had more important things to focus on.

Esther stirred beside him, her wide eyes darting around the room, captivated by the soft lighting and the elegant shimmer of glassware. She gurgled softly, her tiny fingers curling toward nothing in particular.

"Well, aren't you two very awake and about," his grandfather said, leaning slightly toward them. His voice was warm, carrying an ease that didn't quite match the tension in the room. His smile deepened as he studied the babies, but Elijah could see the hairline fractures in the facade.

Elijah, however, had bigger priorities. He sniffed the air, and his stomach clenched with anticipation. Food. Real food. The rich aroma wrapped around him, making his mouth water. Milk had sustained him, but it was nothing compared to the promise of something solid. His mother had finally relented a little, allowing him to sample food, though she'd noted that most babies didn't start solids until six months.

But Esther had cried when she saw him eating, and now they both got little portions. It wasn't enough. Elijah was already preparing his next attack. Step one: widen the eyes, tilt the head, look irresistibly adorable. Step two: if that failed, raise hell.

His grandmother finally spoke, her voice smooth as silk but carrying the weight of ice.

"It is good for you to finally show. Please, take a seat."

The words were draped in civility, but Elijah didn't miss the underlying frost. It was a masterclass in thinly veiled contempt—the polite sneer of someone who believed their presence alone was a favor.

His mother met the challenge without hesitation. She smiled, a soft, unreadable expression that somehow still carried an edge.

"Apologies. Babies need attention. I personally take care of my children, and with two, it does take more time."

The way she emphasized personally landed with a quiet but deliberate weight.

Even Elijah could feel the ripple in the air. Whoa. Talk about tension. His mother's words settled between them like a drawn blade—subtle, but impossible to ignore.

As they took their seats, Elijah nestled further into his crib, one small hand wrapping around Esther's. His expression remained the picture of innocence.

Talk about awkward.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, filling the room like an oppressive fog. No one spoke. No one even attempted to. The tension clung to the air, a beast lurking in the corners, waiting for someone to acknowledge it.

Elijah, ever the problem solver, took it upon himself to disrupt the bullshit.

He let out a loud, dramatic "Ah-buh-da!" followed by a series of expertly timed gurgles and exaggerated expressions. He waved his tiny hands with purpose, as if to say, Behold! A distraction! Look at me, the adorable infant, and stop making this dinner insufferable!

His grandfather was the first to break. A slow smile pulled at his tired features, cracking through the layers of formality like sunlight through old blinds.

Maybe Elijah had misjudged him. He prided himself on reading people, and what he saw in that expression wasn't duty or pretense. It was real, genuine love.

"May I hold my grandchild?" his grandfather asked, his voice softer than before.

His mother nodded, her posture still poised. "Of course you may."

His grandfather's smile deepened, something in him seeming to loosen, like he had just taken a deep breath after holding it for far too long. He reached forward, lifting Elijah with steady hands, his grip strong but careful—like he actually wanted to hold him, not just because it was expected.

Elijah debated crying just to mess with him—see if the old man would panic—but ultimately decided against it. Instead, he grabbed hold of his grandfather's neatly pressed vest and yanked.

Hard.

His grandfather let out a genuine laugh, a deep, unrestrained chuckle that seemed to shave years off his face. He looked… lighter, somehow. Less like the stiff, politically correct nobleman from earlier and more like a real person.

Meanwhile, Karen Supreme—otherwise known as his grandmother—was watching all of this with the expression of a woman who had just bitten into something mildly disappointing but was too proud to admit it. The aura of disapproval radiating off her could have curdled milk.

And then, somehow, she got even worse.

When the food order arrived, her tone turned sharp, every word dripping with the kind of condescension that made waiters reconsider their life choices. She sent the server away twice before graciously accepting a revised dish that had probably been perfect the first time.

Elijah barely paid attention.

His focus was on the heavenly aroma wafting through the room. Boar. That's what the specialty was. Some kind of rich, roasted, perfectly seasoned boar.

His stomach practically wept at the injustice.

He had only just convinced his mother to let him eat solids, but he was stuck with tiny portions of mush while everyone else got actual food.

He cast a side glance at Esther, who was nestled comfortably in their grandfather's other arm, looking just as intrigued by the scents filling the air.

Elijah didn't want to say he was starving, but if someone didn't get him in on this boar situation soon, he was prepared to start a very public protest.

His grandfather, still holding him with ease, seemed completely unbothered by the ongoing Karen-esque theatrics from across the table. Elijah had to admit—it was kind of Abel-level cool.

Maybe he had judged him wrong.

Or maybe… he just needed to pull on his vest a little harder and see if that got him a bite of food.