The speech ended, but the silence it left behind lingered like aftershocks from a slow-falling tower.
Then—motion returned. Nobles whispered, cutlery resumed its delicate dance against porcelain, and the low hum of politics disguised as conversation filled the grand banquet hall once more.
But at one table, set apart like an afterthought dressed in velvet, five figures remained still.
Lucavion leaned against the back of his chair, goblet turning absently between his fingers. Elayne sat poised, posture flawless, but her eyes were distant, observing everything and nothing at once. Toven tapped the edge of his glass with a spoon—not loud enough to be disruptive, just enough to keep his hands busy. Caeden sat like a pillar carved from caution, and Mireilla…
Mireilla was watching everyone.
Then she sighed.
"Well," she said, "that was… inspiring."
Lucavion arched an eyebrow. "You say that like you're trying not to gag."
