The room was silent. All eyes were fixed on Theo and Tizmilly, who stood defiantly before Gyllena. Ignoring the heavy atmosphere, Gyllena took a silk handkerchief from her knight, dabbing her forehead with practiced, nonchalant grace.
Theo crossed his arms, his voice dropping an octave. "The reason, Gyllena?"
Tizmilly watched her old friend with a mix of worry and lingering resentment. "You were clearly satisfied with the dish, so why the hostility?"
Gyllena handed the handkerchief back without looking. When she finally turned, her gaze didn't meet Theo's—it landed squarely on Tizmilly, cold and patronizing.
"You aren't the one who cooked that, am I right, Tizmilly?" Gyllena asked, her voice like cracking ice.
Tizmilly flinched slightly but nodded. "I... I am still learning."
