"OH MWY GWOD... THWIS FWOHD ID SWOW GWUD!"
Cherion looked less like a person eating and more like a man was waging war on the plate. Cheeks ballooned to impossible proportions, and a smear of sauce clung to his face like it had always belonged there, a tiny flag of triumph.
Zarius was sitting at the other end of the table. He wasn't eating. He hadn't touched the fine silverware or the glass at his elbow. He was just... watching. The Duke's eyes were fixed on Cherion with an intensity that, under any other circumstance, would have been deeply unnerving, but Cherion was far too occupied with a particularly succulent drumstick to care about being stared at.
Cherion finally swallowed, wheezing like he'd just sprinted a marathon. That's when he noticed Zarius at the other end of the table, looking like someone had forgotten to plug him in. Stiff posture, pale face, and eyes that basically screamed: "Why am I here?"
