"What's wrong?" Lucian asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed the faint frown tugging at Cynthia's lips.
"You're right. I am hungry," she murmured, rising gracefully from her seat. She stepped toward the long, elegantly adorned table, laden with an array of carefully prepared dishes.
As she approached, her gaze swept over the hall, lingering on the extravagant decor and the vibrant clusters of guests dressed in finery. It amazed her that her brother had managed to organize such a grand celebration for his wedding so soon after the war's end. There was an almost surreal quality to the lively gathering as if peace was something fragile, held together only by the warmth and laughter filling the air.
Her attention shifted to the platters of fruit, and a familiar sour-looking one caught her eye—a favorite from childhood that she had nearly forgotten. She reached out, her fingers just inches away, when suddenly, another hand swept in and snatched it from the plate.
