The banquet hall glittered like a jewel carved from firelight. Hundreds of torches blazed in iron sconces, their glow reflected in walls gilded with gold trimmings and polished obsidian. Vast chandeliers with thousands of candles, lit like stars, hung from the vaulted ceiling.
Banners painted with the Northem's symbol— a golden eagle clutching a ring of fire—loomed above the hall like a silent sentinel. Several long tables groaned under the weight of roasted pheasant, grilled boar, wheels of cheese, freshly baked bread, fruits and goblets of wine. The scents of the feast mingled with the sharp tang of steel from armored guards at every door.
Nobles murmured among themselves, jeweled sleeves brushing against polished goblets. Their laughter was too sharp, their smiles too schooled. Each word was weighed, each glance calculated. They had come to feast, yes, but also to measure their queen.
And then the great doors opened.
