Unfortunately for Hestia, Evan had woken up in something of a foul mood. He had thought his work had been done with, that it was time to sit comfortably for a little while, but the arrival of the Prophet to his den that morning had set in works what would be a terrible temper tantrum for the rest of the day. He had even been short with Odette when he pulled her out of bed in the morning, barking at her to get dressed without the help of the elves. He hadn't even plaited her pretty hair, or gone through her closet with painstaking care as he usually did. No, he had merely snatched the first dress he saw and thrust it at her before leaving the room.
Oh, yes. The master of the house was unimpressed, indeed. He dressed quickly and made his way into the sitting room, nodding to his father's wife, and then his father, before they all retired to the breakfast table. It was like this every morning. He recognised the grave look on his father's face as the one on his own, and words weren't necessary. Odette joined them soon after, her lips twisted in a sullen pout, falling into the seat just left of Evan. It was a kind of strange relationship, really, that she should go to Evan instead of her real father, but Evan had been fussing over her so long that he was practically the only paternal influence she had. This was exemplified by the sigh Evan gave when she put her elbows on the table, and he nudged her hard under the table with his foot. "Non. This may be breakfast, but you weren't raised in a barn."
This only made the little girl frown more, to the point where it looked as if she were going to cry, but that quickly disappeared when she saw Hestia enter the room. Instantly, she perked up, smiling, eyes fixated on the older woman. "Hello, good morning!" Odette cried, albeit in a whisper, resisting the urge to jump out of her chair to hug her.
Evan, for his part, merely watched Hestia with a severe gaze, lips twitching in annoyance. Everything she did, she did carefully and perfectly, denying him the privilege of seeing to her punishment. A childish part of him wanted to stick his foot out, to trip her, to cause a fuss. Instead, he merely sat forward and grabbed his fork, making delicate cuts of the food on the plate. He raised it to his mouth, then, before spitting it back into a napkin.