Badlands

3

Evening draped over the manor as I set about my duties, the clinking of plates and the soft rustle of linen punctuating the quiet. I navigated the dining room with practiced ease, serving steaming dishes to Alberon, Theana, and Pater. The scent of rosemary and roasted meats wafted through the air, mingling with the warmth from the hearth.

"Remember how Mother would scold us for playing knights at the table?" Alberon's voice broke through the comfortable silence, a chuckle lacing his words.

"Indeed," Pater responded, his eyes momentarily bright with the flicker of fond recollections. "She had no tolerance for such antics during supper."

As I leaned forward to place a bowl of stew before Alberon, he caught my eye, his smile broadening just for me—a silent thanks wrapped in genuine warmth. But that small exchange was like a spark near tinder, and Theana's countenance darkened instantly, her lips thinning into a scowl. She always looked as if she were tasting something bitter, but now, it was as though she had bitten into a particularly sour lemon.

"Is there something amiss with your meal, Theana?" Pater inquired, noting her expression with a subtle arch of his brow.

"Nothing at all," she replied curtly, eyes still narrowed in my direction.

I retreated a step, busying myself with gathering empty starter plates, the back of my neck prickling under her gaze. The tension in the room had shifted, the jovial atmosphere evaporating like mist against the sun. I could feel the delicate balance of their moods in my hands, as fragile as the crystal goblets I polished and placed upon the sideboard.

The clink of silverware against fine porcelain punctuated the silence that had settled over the dinner table, thick and uneasy. 

"Father," Theana began, her voice slicing through the quiet with the precision of a blade, "what news of the war? Surely there are updates from the front."

Pater's hand paused mid-air, his fork hovering just above his plate. He laid it down gently, his gaze settling upon his daughter with an unreadable expression.

"Theana, my dear," he said, measured and calm, "such matters are far too complex for your concern."

I sensed more than saw the ripple of anger that passed through Theana's frame. Her fingers tightened around her own silverware, knuckles whitening with restrained fury. 

"Am I not to be privy to the affairs that affect our very lives?" she pressed, her voice a notch higher, teetering on the edge of defiance. "How am I to learn, if not from you?"

"Trust that I will inform you when it is necessary," Pater replied, his tone final, brooking no further discussion.

The fire in Theana's eyes spoke volumes,  though she sat silent, her jaw set in a hard line, the air around her seemed to vibrate with her indignation.

The clatter of cutlery against fine porcelain underscored the rising tension as Pater's voice crescendoed through the dining hall at his daughters silent testament. "Theana, enough!" he barked, his face reddening with a mixture of irritation and something that looked like fear.

"Enough?" Each syllable a challenge hurled at her father's authority. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping back with an aggressive screech. "I am to inherit your mantle one day, am I not? How can I accept a legacy I know nothing about?"

Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, her knuckles white, betraying the strength of her conviction.

"Sit down this instant," Pater commanded, but there was an unsteadiness in his voice, a crack in the fortress of his command.