The royal banquet hall had grown even more vibrant by the time Lucas and Lira made it to the main reception area. Golden light bathed the room from the high, floating chandeliers, casting a warm glow over the finely dressed nobles mingling below. The perfume of highborn women hung thick in the air, blending with the scent of spiced meats and rare wines. Every laugh, every tilt of a goblet, seemed meticulously measured.
And standing in the very center of it all, like a flame drawing moths, was Prince Darius.
He stood tall, robed in deep navy trimmed with silver threads that shimmered subtly when he moved. The prince's expression was the same as always: elegant, calm, but with that ever-present arrogance beneath the surface. He greeted guests like they were subjects, not equals, each smile a performance, each handshake calculated. This was his moment, and he owned it with every breath.
