For a long while, neither of them said anything.
Or rather, neither of them signed anything.
The restaurant remained filled with the comforting, rhythmic sounds of mid-day dining. Silver cutlery tapped lightly against fine porcelain plates, a delicate percussion beneath the steady hum of distant conversations. Waiters glided seamlessly between the neatly arranged tables, balancing heavy silver trays of steaming food, their soft footsteps lost in the ambient murmur of the room.
Beside their private booth, tall glass panes allowed the brilliant afternoon sunlight to stream inside. The light pooled across the polished mahogany table, casting a warm, honeyed glow over the cream-colored linen and crystal water goblets.
Kael sat comfortably in his plush chair, letting the tension bleed from his shoulders. Across from him, Alisha occasionally cast her bright gaze out the window to watch the bustling market, her eyes tracking a passing carriage or a colorful merchant stall, before her attention gently fluttered back to the table.
The silence stretching between them was not heavy or uncomfortable. It was just quiet. A rare, peaceful void in a world usually demanding constant noise.
After several moments of this shared tranquility, Alisha slowly raised her hands.
Kael noticed the movement from the corner of his eye and shifted his full attention toward her, his posture straightening slightly.
Her slender fingers began to move, the gestures deliberate and graceful.
"How is your health?"
Her delicate eyebrows pinched together, and her expression grew noticeably concerned as she continued her silent inquiry.
"After... the coma."
Kael understood the weight behind the question immediately. The memory of his prolonged unconsciousness—and the worry it had undoubtedly caused those who knew him—hung briefly in the air between them. For a fraction of a second, he paused, the lingering shadow of that morning's disastrous ritual threatening to surface. But looking at her genuine concern, he pushed the darkness away.
His hands moved in response, his gestures smooth and reassuring.
"Yeah. I'm feeling good now."
A small, authentic smile broke across his face, reaching his eyes.
"Much better than before."
Alisha watched his hands carefully, reading the subtle nuances of his expression to ensure he wasn't simply being polite. Satisfied, she offered a small, relieved nod.
"Okay."
The deep concern that had shadowed her golden eyes softened, melting back into her usual bright demeanor.
And then... the comfortable silence returned.
Both of them sat quietly once again. Several seconds ticked by, stretching into a full minute. Neither seemed particularly eager to shatter the peace. Kael rested his chin on his hand, occasionally glancing at the lively market through the window. Across from him, Alisha thoughtfully traced a slender finger along the gilded rim of her empty teacup, perfectly content to simply wait.
The atmosphere remained utterly serene. Almost too peaceful.
Until the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps reached their table.
A senior waiter arrived, carrying a massive silver tray balanced impeccably upon his shoulder and right hand.
The rich, intoxicating aroma reached them long before the plates even touched the table. It was a sensory symphony: the yeasty warmth of freshly baked bread, the savory depth of roasted meats and caramelized onions, the bright zest of cooked river fish, and the sugary, buttery promise of sweet pastries.
With practiced elegance, the waiter began to unload the tray.
Before Kael, he gently set down a heavy ceramic plate bearing a generous cut of Roasted Highland Venison. The meat was cooked to a perfect tenderness, smothered in a dark, rich herb gravy that steamed invitingly in the sunlight. Beside it sat a deep bowl of thick, creamy barley soup, accompanied by thick slices of crusty, warm rye bread meant for dipping.
Before Alisha, the waiter placed a beautifully arranged platter featuring a Honey-glazed River Trout. The fish's skin glistened with a caramelized golden-brown sheen, resting on a bed of vibrantly colored, butter-roasted root vegetables. To finish her setting, a small porcelain plate held a delicate golden apple tart, its sweet scent of cinnamon and baked fruit wafting gently into the air.
Their respective beverages followed shortly afterward. A steaming cup of dark, robust black mountain tea for Kael, and a fragrant, floral lavender blossom tea for Alisha.
The waiter finished arranging the silver cutlery and adjusting the linens.
"Please, enjoy your meal, my Lord, my Lady."
With a final, deep bow of respect, he stepped back and vanished into the bustling dining hall. And just like that, the quiet table that had been occupied only by peaceful silence now brimmed with a feast.
The meal began without a word.
Kael picked up his knife and fork, cutting a small, tender piece of the venison. The rich, earthy flavor of the meat and the savory bite of the herb gravy grounded him further in reality. Across the table, Alisha carefully used her fork to separate a flaky, white portion of the honey-glazed trout, taking a delicate bite.
For a few minutes, neither of them signed anything, entirely focused on the exceptional food. The restaurant remained pleasantly warm, the ambient chatter of the surrounding tables wrapping around their private bubble.
Kael took another bite of his bread. Then, almost unconsciously, his gaze drifted upward, settling on Alisha.
He watched her for a brief moment before returning his eyes to his plate. He took another bite of venison. Then, he looked up again.
Another bite. Another fleeting glance. Then another.
If anyone else in the restaurant had been paying close attention to their corner booth, the rhythmic pattern of his stolen glances would have been glaringly obvious. Kael himself certainly did not notice it. At least, not at first.
Across from him, Alisha remained happily focused on her trout, occasionally lifting a hand to brush a stray, golden-blonde curl behind her ear as she ate.
Then, during one of his upward glances, Kael's gaze lingered a little longer than before. His fork paused mid-air, hovering halfway between his plate and his mouth.
A quiet, nostalgic thought surfaced in his mind.
I used to play with her when we were children.
The memory felt strangely distant now, like looking through frosted glass. He remembered long, sunlit afternoons spent running recklessly through the expansive, manicured gardens of their family estates. He remembered exploring dusty, forgotten hallways, inventing games, and finding countless ways to entertain themselves despite Alisha's inability to hear or speak. They had never needed voices to understand each other back then.
But looking at her now...
His eyes traced the elegant lines of her face, the sophisticated cut of her azure gown, the poised, confident way she held herself.
She looks more like a woman than the child I remember.
A small, internal pause followed the realization.
Though I suppose that's obvious. She's twenty now.
Phrased out loud, the realization would have sounded utterly ridiculous. People grow up. That was simply the inescapable nature of time. Yet, somehow, the physical and emotional transformation felt jarringly abrupt when it happened to someone he had known for so many years. The energetic little girl who used to chase him through the rose gardens had quietly blossomed into a noblewoman of striking presence.
His gaze lowered back toward his cooling barley soup, but his mind continued to wander.
What I still don't understand...
He stirred the soup absentmindedly.
...is how anyone could reject her simply because she cannot speak or hear.
He had heard the venomous whispers of high society. The aristocratic gossip that drifted through ballrooms and parlor cars. Stories of potential suitors—sons of dukes and earls—who had eagerly approached the Silverwindcrest family, only to quietly withdraw their proposals. Elite families that had politely, but firmly, declined alliances. Shallow people who looked only at the perceived "flaw" of her silence, entirely blind to everything else she possessed.
His eyes rose again.
Alisha was quietly taking a sip of her lavender tea, her movements calm, elegant, and perfectly composed. She was completely unaware of the heavy, protective thoughts currently swirling through his mind.
She is kind, Kael thought. Intelligent. Endlessly patient. And beautiful enough that half the men in this city would snap their necks turning to look if she walked past them on the street.
Kael forcefully stabbed a piece of venison, bringing it to his mouth.
People can be remarkably foolish.
The blunt thought came and went without ceremony. But as Kael chewed, he realized something alarming.
Across the table, Alisha had stopped eating. She had finally noticed him staring.
She paused with her teacup halfway to her saucer, tilting her head slightly to the side in visible confusion. It was a perfectly executed, silent question.
Kael's eyes widened slightly. He immediately snapped his gaze down to his plate and aggressively cut another piece of meat, chewing with exaggerated focus as though absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
For a second, Alisha narrowed her golden eyes, studying him with deep suspicion. Then, deciding it wasn't worth interrupting her meal over, she gave a tiny shrug and returned to her trout.
The quiet lunch continued beneath the warm afternoon light. But Kael's mind refused to settle. His thoughts continued to drift, the bustling sounds of the restaurant fading into white noise. The clinking plates, the overlapping voices, the rapid movement of the waiters—all of it blurred into the background. For a brief, unguarded moment, his attention locked entirely, unblinkingly, on the woman sitting across from him.
Suddenly, Alisha looked up.
Directly at him.
Their eyes met instantly, locking together. There was nowhere for Kael to look away, no excuse he could manufacture fast enough.
Alisha set her fork down. She slowly raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and then tilted her head sharply.
"What?"
The meaning of the gesture was as loud and unmistakable as if she had shouted it across the dining hall.
Kael froze. It felt exactly as though someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over him, jolting him awake from a deep daydream. His mind scrambled furiously to catch up with reality. A moment later, a distinct, unfamiliar heat crept up his neck, and a faint trace of embarrassed red bloomed across his cheeks.
He hastily dropped his fork and raised his hands, his fingers moving a little too quickly.
"Sorry."
Alisha blinked, clearly amused but waiting for an explanation.
Kael forced himself to breathe and continued signing.
"I was just thinking about something."
The vague excuse felt flimsy, the signs rushed. Alisha studied his face for a long, calculating second. She looked at his slightly flushed cheeks, his averted eyes, and the nervous tension in his shoulders.
Then, to his immense relief, her expression softened. The suspicion melted away into a gentle, knowing look. With a small, forgiving nod, she raised her hands.
"Okay."
Fortunately—mercifully—she did not press the issue. She didn't ask exactly what he had been thinking about while staring at her so intently.
For that small mercy, Kael was profoundly grateful.
Both of them returned to their meals. This time, however, Kael paid significantly more attention to the actual food on his plate, keeping his eyes safely averted.
Slowly but surely, the culinary masterpieces vanished. The hearty venison and rich gravy, the sweet honey-glazed trout, the savory root vegetables, and the fragrant barley soup. Even the delicate golden apple tart disappeared, leaving behind only a faint dusting of powdered sugar. Eventually, only empty porcelain plates and drained teacups remained upon the white linen.
Satisfied, they both retrieved their cloth handkerchiefs, dabbing their mouths and cleaning their hands in comfortable silence. The meal had been an undeniable success. It was pleasant, grounding, and thoroughly comfortable—a desperately needed distraction from the terrifying magical failure of Kael's morning.
A few moments later, their waiter returned. In his hand, he carried a small, understated leather folder. He placed it neatly upon the center of the table with a polite nod.
"The bill, sir."
Kael reached out and opened the leather flap, glancing at the handwritten total.
One hundred Frynks.
A considerable sum for a lunch, though standard for an establishment of this tier. Across the table, Alisha immediately reached for her elegant silk purse.
Click.
The silver clasp of her bag popped open, and she began to rummage inside for her own coin purse.
Before her fingers could retrieve the money, Kael calmly raised a hand, palm facing her. She paused, looking up in surprise.
His hands moved in slow, decisive motions.
"It's fine."
He held her gaze, adding a final, unyielding sign.
"I'll pay."
Alisha's eyes widened. She quickly shook her head, her blonde hair swishing around her shoulders, and immediately brought her hands up to argue.
"No, we can split it."
Kael didn't even entertain the negotiation. He simply shook his head once—a firm, aristocratic dismissal of the idea.
"There's no need."
Without giving her a single second to formulate a counter-argument or sign another protest, he reached casually into the breast pocket of his coat. He withdrew a crisp stack of currency, counted out the exact amount with a generous tip included, and placed the Frynks smoothly onto the leather folder.
The waiter, who had been standing by discreetly, stepped forward and accepted the payment with a respectful bow.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Ravenshade. We hope to see you both again soon."
With the bill officially settled and swept away, the matter was definitively closed. Alisha sat with her hands hovering over her open purse, thoroughly outmaneuvered. She looked at Kael for a long, silent moment, her eyes dancing with a mix of mild exasperation and genuine fondness.
Finally, she snapped her purse shut.
A small, genuine smile touched the corners of her lips. It wasn't a large, beaming grin, but it was incredibly warm—just enough to communicate her quiet appreciation for the gesture.
Meanwhile, outside the thick glass of the restaurant window, the afternoon city continued moving exactly as it always had. Carriages rolled, merchants bartered, and pedestrians hurried along the cobblestones, all completely unaware that inside the corner booth, Kael Ravenshade had just fought—and won—a silent battle over the lunch bill.