Luna had been watching them.
Even as she sat at the long, wooden table draped in cloth and crowded with food, her eyes kept flickering toward the distant figures under the trees—Tyrnhael and the five ruling males. They had deliberately walked far enough from the feast that no one could overhear their conversation, their backs turned, their postures tense and guarded.
But Luna was paying attention.
She let the rich flavor of the roasted meat melt on her tongue. The vegetables were crisp and coated in herbs she couldn't name. The stew was thick, warm, and comforting, and the honeyed bread practically dissolved in her mouth. It was good—no, it was divine. A part of her wanted to sob from how heavenly it all tasted, especially after the filth and fear she'd known just days before.
She chewed slowly, savoring every bite, every bit of warmth that traveled down her throat.
'God, this food makes me want to cry… I forgot what kindness tasted like.'
