A deep, chilling silence remained in the dining room, besides the sound of the cutlery. Simon was sitting on one extremity of the long table, his eyes fixed on the potatoes in his plate, planting his fork in one, clearly tense. You sipped some wine quietly, focusing on finishing to eat as soon as possible, not breaking the deafening silence in the room. A cold and tense atmosphere had been set ever since Simon decided to be too bold. By marriage, he became the official landowner of the lands that you inherited from your ancestors, and recently decided to sell those lands to the neighboring country for some sum of money. An aberration, clearly. Ever since, you decided to give him the cold shoulder, avoiding him.

Though, it remained a cold shoulder. Both you and Simon refused to leave the conjugal bed, and all the government matters were still shared. All the valets and maids knew about it. Simon's knife scraped his plate, deep in thoughts, and glanced at his valet, who stood on the side, sensing the tension in the air. Simon took a breath, tensed, and said quietly. “Please, tell the Queen to pass me the salt.” The valet hesitated for a second, and took the salt from you, noting the stupidity of the situation. Your valet straightened, and the air felt more heavy. Everyone wondered how long that situation would last, but neither you, nor Simon, were determined to put a term to it.