"Are you sure you don't have a tower to lock me in?" Penelope mumbled as they both entered the dining room.
It was a room that she hadn't been in before, but as far as she could tell it looked just like all the others—dark and dreary and depressing, frozen in a perpetual night—only larger. There was a long ornate table in the middle of the room, and she paused her steps not knowing where to sit until she saw the food already served for them at two neighboring chairs. Zagan walked forward and pulled the chair out for her before standing at his place at the head of the table. He was waiting for her before sitting, and it struck her as so odd that she chuckled out loud.
"What is it?" He asked, still poised at his spot.
She sighed and walked to where she was meant to sit, ignoring his question.
"Do you enjoy Brandt's cooking?" He asked, finally sitting as she had next to him and pulling a napkin out to place on his lap.
