Rymora on the other hand didn't hesitate to head back into her room. She was still pissed at Aria but refused to dwell on it even as she went to eat in the servant's food hall first before heading to her room.
Her steps were firm, not hurried but filled with a silent, simmering energy. The anger still hummed low in her chest, but she was used to this by now—used to swallowing it, letting it burn inside rather than explode out. She had no time for childish outbursts, not when every breath she took in Zyren's castle was watched, judged, and calculated. Aria could stew in her emotions. Rymora chose control.
The food was nice but nowhere as special as what she saw on the lord's tables but Rymora didn't mind. She knew what she was in Zyren's castle to do.
She was a spy and even if she wasn't she still wouldn't have had any rights whatsoever to eat at his table.
