|Theodore|
It wasn’t long after the morning sun had fully risen that Camilla came to fetch us for breakfast. Her voice, light but firm, echoed down the hall. We gathered once more in the small dining area, where the meal—prepared and served by the people under Gracia’s care—waited for us on a modest but well-kept table. The aroma of warm bread, dried herbs, and something stewed wafted through the air. Despite the rustic setting, the service was thoughtful, the portions generous, and the atmosphere oddly comforting.
These people—Gracia’s people—were rogues by status, exiles in the eyes of most, yet they carried themselves with a quiet dignity that caught me off guard. They smiled politely, bowed their heads in greeting, and moved with a purposeful grace. As I sipped my tea and watched the
