ELIA
When she reached the dining room, the morning sun was glittering on the massive, old-fashioned chandelier that hung over the table, making the light prism on the walls. But Shaw sat at the head of the table, a tablet next to his plate, reading something as he ate.
"Good morning, Your Highness," he said happily as she walked to the buffet on other side of the table and picked up a plate.
"Good morning, Shaw," she said quietly, suddenly so weary. She didn't want to talk to this strange man. She didn't want to have to answer his inevitable questions—or navigate dodging them. Gahrye's instincts about Shaw hadn't changed. They still didn't know what was wrong with him, but something was not to be trusted. And as long as that was the case, she found the man tiring.
