The Grand Dining Hall of Nevareth was a masterpiece of intimidation, a cavern of sapphire-veined marble and pillars of eternal frost that seemed to reach for the heavens.
Tonight, however, the palace staff had labored to soften its edges. Chandeliers of enchanted ice dripped with warm, amber light, and the long banquet table was draped in heavy Solmire silks... a crimson river cutting through a frozen landscape.
It was a feast Intended to bridge two worlds, yet the air felt as thin and brittle as a glass figurine.
Soren sat at the head of the table, his posture the very definition of imperial grace, though his eyes never strayed far from the empty chair to his right.
Caelen and Ophelia occupied the opposite side, a tableau of Southern domesticity. Rael was notably absent; the journey had finally claimed the boy's strength, and Caelen had decided to let him sleep through the evening's formalities.
Then, the doors groaned open.
