I quickly passed the bowl of rolls to Damiel—before my father threw it at his head.
As Damiel lifted a roll from the bowl, he glanced casually at my father’s hand. “A fork is not a weapon worthy of an angel, Silverstar.”
I nearly spilled the tea I was pouring into my father’s cup.
“Yes, you know all about dignity, Interrogator,” he snapped back at Damiel.
“You’re one to speak. I know about your serious breach of protocol at the Battle of Vienna.”
“Are you investigating me?” my father demanded, incredulous.
Damiel’s brows arched. “Should I be?”
“Don’t threaten me, Dragonsire.”
I sighed. “We’re supposed to be starting over,” I reminded them. “We’re supposed to be getting along.”
“We are getting along, Princess,” replied Damiel. “No blood has been spilled.”
My father nodded. “Nor spells exchanged.”
Sighing once more, I grabbed a strawberry tart from the silver platter. This was going to be a long breakfast! And a very long immortal life.