The servants quickly and efficiently laid out the meal, each dish more ornate than the last.
Roasted pheasant glazed in honeyed wine, golden-baked pastries filled with spiced meat, fresh-cut vegetables arranged like a painter's work, and a soup that shimmered faintly with steam in the cold air.
Everything looked like it had come straight from the royal kitchens.
The advisors smiled stiffly as Kyle surveyed the spread.
"Lord Armstrong, please, enjoy your meal. We put in great effort to prepare something worthy of your status."
One of them said with practiced grace,
Another chimed in.
"The Marquess was adamant that you be treated with the highest hospitality."
None of them even glanced at Bruce.
It was as though he didn't exist, a servant unworthy of even contempt. Kyle didn't seem to mind their oversight, and Bruce, ever loyal, didn't take offense.
He kept his posture straight, eyes vigilant, until Kyle reached for his soup.
