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“Let me in, you expressionless twerp—”
Charon backed into the door, slamming it shut before Aristide could hiss any more insults at him.
The door rattled behind him, and there was a muffled wolf’s “Awoo—” which abruptly cut off.
Charon corrected his hold of the tea tray, but otherwise was unbothered by the scuffle. “Refreshments,” he announced tonelessly.
“Thank you, Charon,” Noctus said.
Charon bowed and approached the coffee table, setting the tray on it.
“The reason why I was interested in Chloe Anderson,” Noctus began, taking control of the conversation before the Paragon could, “is the reason why I even allowed you to come today.”
“Oh?” The Paragon leaned back in his chair, the rims of his eyeglasses gleaming.
“I once considered a shadow in my acquaintance as a companion,” Noctus said. “Moreover, it has always been my sorrow that the elves wiped out such a talented group of supernaturals. I am glad there is at least one survivor.”
I was fairly certain he was talking about me, but I wasn’t as skilled at hiding my expressions—or recovering—as Noctus was, so I opted to watch Charon, instead.
“You can be sentimental,” the Paragon said. “Interesting—I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Charon took the opportunity to pour Noctus a cup of tea, serving him first, then poured one for the Paragon and set it in front of him.
The whole time he never glanced at me, or gave any indication he was aware of my presence.
Of course he wouldn’t. I left. It’s not that he hates me, I’m simply not part of the group anymore.
My hope—and decision to make a plan—rattled around in my heart.
I missed Noctus fiercely, but it was more than him that made me dream of Calor Villa.
Charon poured tea in the last remaining teacup. “Sugar or cream, miss?” he asked, his voice lacking inflection—at least I could be comforted by knowing that was usually how he talked.
“Cream, please. Thank you.” I awkwardly cleared my throat and tried to smile at him, hoping he could read the apology in my eyes.
Charon’s expression was bland as ever as he poured some cream into my cup of tea.
Drooping, I took the cup from him when he offered it, holding it as I gawkily stood by the Paragon’s chair, still feeling too awkward to sit. I sipped at my tea, even though it wasn’t really my thing.
It was then that Charon uncovered the silver platter of treats he’d brought, revealing a crystal plate filled with neatly arranged donuts.
There were cake donuts flecked with blue-ish purple bits that smelled like sugar coated blueberries, round chocolate donut holes that were covered with a glazed frosting that hadjustset with a slight crust to it, a cake donut that was a dark green that I was willing to bet was green tea flavored, and three intricately arranged cinnamon twists.
Donuts. He brought donuts, my favorite food.
“Donuts? What prompted this sudden bout of VIP treatment? Normally you won’t offer me any kind of food!” The Paragon eagerly grabbed the green tea donut and two of the chocolate donut holes.
“We don’t typically offer you food because I don’t wish for you to stay longer than needed,” Noctus said. “In this case it hardly seems like it will be necessary to starve you out.”
I barely heard him—I was busy trying to fight back the unexpected tears that stung my eyes. I hurriedly took another sip of my tea to buy me time to fix my expression before picking a blueberry cake donut.
This is torture. Because they’re so understanding. But I suppose they’ve been doing this for centuries. They’ve experienced this before.
The thought made my heart hurt worse—not for me, but for them.
Noctus, Charon, Ker, and Aristide made so many sacrifices because Noctus was the last elven king.
But he was a good king precisely because he was willing to make those sacrifices, and he didn’t force them on anyone—as I knew firsthand.
