[Silthara Palace—The Imperial Dining Chamber—Later]
The golden doors of the dining chamber closed with a soft thrum.
Torchlight flickered across walls, and the air carried the fragrant blend of roasted spice, sun-dried figs, and sweet lotus wine. A long table of ebony stone stretched beneath them, covered in dishes from both the scorching deserts of Zahryssar and the winter mountains of Thalryn.
Bowls of saffron rice steamed softly, honeyed date stew glistened, sliced cactus fruit bled ruby juice into crystal plates, and desserts—silk pudding dusted in blue sugar, citrus pastries, and rose-gold halva—decorated the end of the table like jewels.
Zeramet sat at the head, posture relaxed.
Levin sat to his right—closer than tradition required. Duke Aren sat to the left. Next to him sat Aelira, who, despite her perfect noble posture, could not keep her gaze from drifting—again and again—to the Emperor.
