The comfortable silence that had settled over the breakfast table felt fragile, like thin ice over deep water. Delia could feel Eric's eyes on her, a gaze so intense it was almost like a physical touch. She finally looked up from her plate and met his gaze. His playful, happy expression was gone, replaced by something more serious, more questioning.
"What is it, Your Grace?" she asked, her own voice carefully neutral.
Eric set down the piece of bread he had been about to eat. He shifted in his chair, leaning forward slightly, his posture now serious. "I feel like you are drawing a boundary between us," he said, his voice quiet but direct. "Especially today."
Delia didn't flinch. She didn't deny it. "I am," she answered honestly.
Eric was visibly shocked by how quickly and coldly she admitted it. "What?" he said, his voice a mixture of surprise and hurt.
