CHAPTER 262: AN INNOCENT REMINDER

Meredith.

The clinking of silverware against porcelain began slowly, cautious, like everyone at the table was waiting for Draven to set the tone.

Servants moved like shadows, placing wine and bringing steaming trays to life across the long spread of roasted meats, soups, fruits, and freshly baked bread.

Draven’s voice was the first to break the silence.

"You’ve all traveled far today," he said, his tone calm yet weighted, "so eat and restore your strength. Tomorrow begins what truly matters."

His words were simple, but his gaze cut across the table like a blade—resting just long enough on Gary, then on Mabel, before moving on. Neither of them dared speak.

Wanda lifted her glass with stiff fingers, forcing a sip, though her eyes remained downcast.

I busied myself with serving Xamira first, helping her with a small portion of soup and bread before I raised anything for myself.

When I finally settled back into my chair, I could feel my siblings’ eyes on me, the weight of their attention heavier than the silver goblet in my hand.

It was Mabel who finally spoke.

"When," she asked, her voice smooth but laced with something sharp, "did the scar on your face heal up?"

Her question was sudden, deliberate. I felt Draven’s attention flick toward her, though he didn’t speak. His silence, I knew, was not indifference—it was permission for me to answer on my own terms.

I lifted my gaze and met hers across the table. For years, I had learned to bow under her words, to shrink when she chose to draw blood but not tonight, and definitely not in my own home.

’My own home?’ Those words unlocked something right in me.

"It gradually healed up," I answered Mabel simply, my tone measured, betraying nothing of what truly lay behind it.

Mabel’s brows twitched, just slightly. She let the silence linger between us, her fork untouched, before adding, "For several months, your scar never mended back home... but when you came here, in Duskmoor, suddenly it did."

Her words weren’t just an observation—they were a probe. A needle meant to pry.

I felt the tension at the table shift, the faint sound of a servant pouring wine filling the air between us. Draven remained silent beside me, but I felt the steady warmth of his presence like an anchor.

"A lot of things contributed to it," I replied, my lips curving faintly though my chest tightened. "For example—being happier... and at peace."

My words carried across the table like soft silk, yet I meant every one of them. I didn’t glance at Draven because he already knew the real truth, and that I also meant those significant words I just mentioned.

I was indeed happier and more at peace here.

For a moment, the table stilled. Mabel’s smirk flickered, faltered even, though she hid it quickly behind her goblet. Gary remained silent, though his jaw worked as if grinding on something unsaid.

Xamira leaned against my side, tugging lightly at my sleeve, grounding me with her innocent presence. I guessed she didn’t want to speak since she was very much aware of the two new strangers at the table.

Dennis, from his place near me, glanced toward my siblings with cool, warning eyes that made me feel less alone.

I took my spoon and lifted it to my lips, sipping the warm broth calmly. I wasn’t the one flinching or fumbling for words.

I preferred to let them wonder and see the changes and not understand it.

For a minute, the hum of conversation slowly returned to the table, but it was thin, cautious. Forks clinked softly, wine poured in measured silence.

But I had only just taken another bite of roasted lamb when Mabel’s voice slid across the table again, sharp enough to still my hand.

"You didn’t tell us," she said, tilting her chin toward Xamira, who sat happily beside me, eating bread along while waiting for the roasted lamb Dennis helped her cut into small chunks with her cutlery, "that Draven had a human daughter."

Her words weren’t asked out of curiosity; they were bait, meant to corner me. I felt Gary glance up from his plate, his expression unreadable, while Wanda pretended to be wholly engrossed in her wineglass, though I could still see the stiffness in her shoulders.

I set my fork down gently and turned to look directly at Mabel. My lips curved, soft and deliberate.

"I didn’t know we were that close," I answered, my tone carrying just enough sweetness to sting, "where I could call you for a chit-chat and pass such information to you."

For a moment, her smirk faltered. A faint flush touched her cheeks, quickly hidden as she lowered her gaze to her plate as the thickened tension pressed down on her.

Draven’s hand, resting on the table beside me, shifted ever so slightly, brushing against mine in silent approval.

He didn’t speak, and he didn’t need to. His silence was a statement: he trusted me to fight my own battles.

Xamira giggled at something Dennis whispered into her ear, her innocent laughter breaking the heaviness of the moment.

I allowed myself to breathe, my chest steady, my back straight as I waited for more tricks from Mabel, and even Gary who was yet to say a word.

And as if he had been waiting for his moment, he cleared his throat. His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it, the same edge from the last time he threatened me.

"You’ve changed, Meredith," he said, his eyes fixed on me across the table. "You sound... different. Almost like you’ve forgotten who you are."

My chest tightened. Though I was a bit wary of him, I forced myself not to look away.

"I haven’t forgotten," I said, my tone even. "I’ve simply stopped letting others define me."

Gary’s jaw worked. He looked like he had something more to say, but one glance at Draven had him sealing his lips completely.

But just before the silence could stretch too far, Wanda leaned forward, her smile thin and deliberate.