Chapter 6

After spending an entire day outside, roaming the city, I returned to the estate completely exhausted. My feet ached from walking, my mind was overloaded with everything I had seen and learned, and frankly, I was desperate for some peace and quiet. But that wasn't how things worked here.

Dinner was a whole damn event.

I barely had time to wash off the city's dust, change into something decent, and drag myself downstairs before the dining hall filled up. The place was buzzing with movement. There was an order to how people seated themselves—higher-ranked individuals took places of honor, while the rest of us, the "potential candidates," found whatever spots we could. I had long since figured out my place. Near the door. As far from trouble as possible.

The hall smelled of fresh bread, roasted meat, and something faintly herby, though I already knew the food would be painfully bland. Apparently, seasoning was something these people feared more than an actual war. I had spent weeks getting used to it, and though my taste buds still screamed in protest, at least I no longer wanted to cry every time I bit into boiled vegetables. Progress.

I took my usual seat and watched as everyone trickled in. The humans had their own table, separate from the rest, and even that was divided based on status. This place thrived on hierarchy. Everything from seating arrangements to the way food was served was designed to remind you exactly where you stood.

Our patron, Lord Alric, entered last, taking his position at the head of the table. His presence commanded silence. Conversations slowed to a murmur before dying completely as he cleared his throat, preparing to speak.

"You all did well today," he began, his deep voice carrying across the hall. "I trust you made good use of the time given to you. Do not concern yourselves over the next trial. You have done your best."

A few murmurs of agreement rippled across the table. Then, just when I thought he was done, his gaze flickered toward me. "Though I would advise some of you to hold your tongue a bit."

I arched a brow.

Was that directed at me? Probably. Definitely. Absolutely.

A few quiet snickers erupted around the table. I didn't need to look up to know people were enjoying this little jab. I had spoken my mind earlier today—something that apparently still counted as scandalous in these circles. But I wasn't reckless. I knew the limits, knew how to toe the line without completely stepping over it.

I didn't respond. Just plastered on my best neutral expression and reached for my cup, taking a slow sip. Our patron gave a slight nod of approval, then gestured for everyone to eat. Just like that, the conversation picked back up, and the tension dissolved into the air.

I busied myself with the food. It was the usual—roast beef, mashed potatoes, buttered rolls, a soup that looked promising but tasted like absolutely nothing. Still, I ate. I needed energy for whatever fresh hell awaited me tomorrow.

But, of course, peace wasn't something I was allowed to have for long.

"Tell me," a sickeningly sweet voice drawled from across the table. "How did you get the Duke to dance with you?"

I glanced up to find Lady Yvette staring at me with a faux-curious smile. Her auburn hair was styled to perfection, her dress embroidered with silver threads that probably cost more than my entire existence here. She was one of those people who always spoke like they were on the verge of complimenting you but somehow made every word feel like an insult instead.

"Did he pity you?" she continued, tilting her head. "Or was it just dumb luck?"

The table quieted again, attention shifting toward us. Wonderful.

I smiled back, slow and deliberate. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

A few chuckles sounded, but Yvette's expression barely wavered. She was good at this game. I could already tell.

"Oh, I would," she said, leaning forward slightly. "Because I can't quite figure it out. It's strange, isn't it? A man like Duke Callum, dancing with…" She trailed off, letting the sentence hang in the air, unspoken but understood.

I saw the trap immediately. If I lashed out, I'd look defensive. If I ignored it, I'd look weak.

So instead, I leaned back, feigning a thoughtful look. "You're right. It is strange. Maybe he just appreciates good company."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Or maybe he felt sorry for you."

That got a few reactions. A poorly stifled laugh here, a sharp intake of breath there. Yvette's friends were clearly enjoying this, eyes gleaming as they waited to see how I'd respond.

I could feel my patron watching me. He wouldn't step in unless things got completely out of hand. This was a test as much as it was a social battle.

I took another slow sip of my drink before setting it down. "Well, if that's the case, then I suppose I should be grateful." I met her gaze head-on. "After all, pity from a Duke is still more than whatever you've managed to get."

Silence.

For a brief second, nobody moved. Then a single, low chuckle echoed from further down the table. Someone had found that funny. Good.

Yvette's expression darkened. Her hand tightened around her fork, but she couldn't exactly argue back without making herself look desperate. Instead, she scoffed under her breath and turned her attention back to her plate, pretending I no longer existed.

That was a victory in my book.

The rest of dinner passed in relative peace after that. A few more hushed conversations, some stolen glances, but nothing else directed at me. Fine by me.

By the time dessert was served—some kind of custard that was barely sweet—I was already thinking about my bed. Today had been exhausting. Between the social gymnastics and the physical strain of walking around the city, I was completely drained.

And yet, as I sat there, letting the dull hum of conversation wash over me, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on me. Not just casual glances. Something sharper. Heavier.

I glanced around discreetly. Most people were focused on their own discussions, their own little intrigues. But at the far end of the room, near where the higher-ranked individuals sat, I caught a pair of piercing blue eyes locked onto me.

Duke Callum.

Unlike earlier, his expression wasn't friendly. It wasn't unkind either. Just… unreadable.

The moment our gazes met, something flickered across his face. But before I could place it, he looked away, turning his attention back to whatever conversation he was engaged in.

Strange.

I let out a slow breath and turned back to my own plate. I didn't know what that had been about, but I wasn't about to dwell on it. Not tonight.

Once dinner finally concluded, I excused myself quickly and made my way back to my room, eager to collapse into bed. My maid, Lilah, helped me out of my dress and into something more comfortable before quietly leaving me alone for the night.

I laid there for a while, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything that had happened. The city, the dances, the whispers, the humiliation attempt at dinner.

And Callum.

I wasn't naive enough to think his interest—whatever it was—meant anything good. He was a Duke. I was… well, me. Still, something about the way he had watched me made my stomach twist with unease.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to push the thoughts away.

Tomorrow would bring more challenges. More games. More battles.

And I had no intention of losing.