The Maden Prince was nowhere to be seen. I was certain I had sent the invitation. Personally verified. Sealed properly. Even double-checked by Coffi, who never missed details unless she was dying or distracted by food. And yet—no silver-haired prince, no amused smirk, no quiet, observant gaze scanning my work like he always did.
A flicker of unease passed through me. I buried it. This was not the day to entertain shadows. Instead, I turned back to the nobles who had gathered around me like moths to mana-lamps.
"Lady Seraphine!"
"How does one reserve the corner suites?"
"Is the bread… sweet?"
"Are the rooms truly private?"
"Explain again how this mana phone works—can my wife use it without exploding?"
I laughed—soft, composed, practiced—and answered everything.
Yes, the rooms were soundproofed. Yes, food could be delivered directly.
No, the mana phone would not explode unless deliberately smashed with a hammer. Yes, the shower produced warm water on demand.
