"I hope so," Herod said, sliding into the chair beside her, a little too close for casual.
She tilted her head and smiled. "Tell me."
He hesitated. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to eat, laugh, have some non alcoholic wine. Instead, here she was, looking at him with those wide, unblinking eyes, demanding answers.
"I was hoping you would get some food in you first," Herod said, feigning casual, gesturing toward the feast.
"Oh come on, Your Highness…" she started to protest.
"You can call me Herod, Ava," he interrupted gently. "Just Herod."
She paused, her hand hovering over a bowl of soup. "Is that what I used to call you?"
There it was again—that sharp little jab of guilt. Herod fumbled for the wine bottle as if it could serve as a distraction or maybe even a shield. "Uh… yes," he lied, drowning the sound of it with a generous pour of the wine.
Ava took a breath and nodded slowly, setting her spoon down. "Okay… Herod. What are we celebrating?"
