The dining hall of the royal palace glittered like a shrine built to mock hunger.
Dozens of candles burned along the table's length, their flames trembling against the drafts of evening. Crystal goblets shimmered with red wine, silver platters steamed with roasted pheasant and glazed fruit — but beneath the splendor, a quiet unease pulsed like a heartbeat.
When Aurelia entered, all conversation stopped.
She moved beside Malion, her steps soft but measured, the hem of her gown whispering against the marble. The courtiers watched — not the king, but her. The woman who had walked into the court of blood and come out beside him.
"Gentlemen," Malion said lightly as he took his seat at the head of the table, "do not let my presence silence your appetites. The food will turn cold before your loyalty does."
A ripple of forced laughter spread through the room.
