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King Raelith steps forward before the silence can stretch further. “Dear Elara is adapting to palace life,” he says. “Her world has changed greatly in a short amount of time.”

Omar hums in acknowledgment, his eyes remaining fixed upon her. “Adjustment reveals character far better than comfort.”

Cael alters his posture, stepping closer to Elara’s side. His gaze anchors on the foreign leader.

Elara’s breathing slows, a slight shift in her demeanor that Omar catches immediately. A subtle calculation registers within the older man’s expression, observant rather than surprised, as though he recognizes an unspoken truce passing between the young royals. Cael bypasses the final steps of the staircase and positions himself directly beside Elara, close enough for the heavy fabric of his sleeve to brush against her arm.

King Raelith gestures outward toward the lower corridor, where the guest dining halls are situated. His exhaustion and earlier frailty vanish beneath a forced, stubborn majesty. “Now that everyone has arrived, dinner awaits us down the hall,” he offers a polite smile to Omar. “Please, come.”

“Do not mind if I do,” Omar replies, falling into step beside the monarch.

Elara and Cael follow. A chill runs through her frame from the draft; the winter frost has returned to the point that even the stone corridors of the palace offer no protection from the cold. Before she can step fully into the dining hall, a heavy warmth settles over her shoulders.

Recognizing Cael’s coat, Elara steps into its weight, her hands sliding down the large wool lapels to draw the fabric closer around her chest. The dark garment conceals her glittering gown and her mother’s golden locket. “Thank you.”

They all take their places at the table, Omar on Raelith’s left, Cael and Elara situated next to Maereth on his right. Tall candles flicker between floral arrangements woven with deep crimson petals and winter greenery, their fresh scent blending with the richer aromas drifting from the kitchens beyond.

Elara maintains a composed bearing. Across the table, Queen Maereth studies the dark coat resting on Elara’s shoulders, her eyes widening with warning. Hesitantly, Elara reaches up to loosen the heavy collar, but she refuses to remove it entirely, desperate for more warmth against the growing heat from the fireplace.

Members of the Zahraani delegation take their seats while Riverath’s vanguards remain stationed along the stone walls in disciplined silence.

Kaera sits beside Queen Maereth, her black hair swaying down her back. Her cheeks are pinker than usual, and long crystal earrings enhance her features, her bracelets and a heavy necklace catching the candlelight along her wrists and neck. Her dark eyes move once over Elara’s gown, her jewelry, and the loosened waves of her hair. The tips of her lips tilt into a soft smile, expressing her silent adoration for the black dress. Elara feels a warmth rise in her chest at the wordless praise.

Kaera’s attention shifts toward Omar. “I trust the southern routes remained stable during your journey,” she says, her voice carrying the effortless authority of her court.

Omar leans back in his steel-trimmed chair. “Stable enough. Breakdown rarely delays when neighboring kingdoms begin rearranging themselves through marriage alliances.”

Cael’s hand shifts beside hers beneath the tablecloth, not making contact, simply narrowing the distance between them.

King Raelith’s expression does not alter. “Riverath’s alliances are not uncertain.”

Omar lifts his glass lazily, a faint smirk touching his lips beneath his beard. “We shall see.”

Servants begin arriving with the first course before cutting into what was becoming a dangerous conversation. Plates are placed carefully before each guest: roasted vegetables glazed with herbs, warm dark bread brushed with butter, and bowls of thick soup carrying rich scents of garlic, cream, and spice.

The soft sounds of dining fill the chamber, blending with the music drifting through the architecture. Elara feels a persistent pressure. From farther down the table, the masked knight with the sun-kissed skin and fierce, dark eyebrows locks his piercing hazel gaze onto Cael, then onto her. Before her anxiety can spiral further, Cael shifts his broad shoulders, his arm brushing against hers. The physical contact forces her focus back.

The musicians continue uninterrupted, the piano carrying the melody while the violin weaves through it in long, restrained notes that drift across the chamber like a slow current. Candlelight flickers against polished silver and crystal, scattering warm reflections across the table, but little of that warmth reaches the atmosphere gathering around the banquet.

King Raelith folds his hands before him, his expression composed. “State the purpose of this sudden visit, Omar. Riverath expects formal notice before a delegation crosses our border.”

Omar does not answer immediately. Instead, he reaches for his glass of wine, turning it once between his fingers before setting it back upon the table untouched. “Military support,” he says, his voice deep and smoothly accented. “Weapons. Reinforcements stationed temporarily along the northern routes. Enough to remind these factions that my borders are not vulnerable. The forces of Oakhaven executed a surprise assault upon my outer grain warehouses, striking over a territorial dispute along the fertile river lands. After this sudden violation of our perimeter, I require the support.”

Elara notices several knights stationed along the walls straighten almost imperceptibly, their attention sharpening despite the discipline that keeps them otherwise still.

Queen Maereth speaks. “Military aid sent across a border has a habit of staying there,” she says evenly, keeping her gaze on her plate. “Reinforcements become permanent casualties when an ally faces an endless conflict.”

Omar’s eyes shift toward her, amusement flickering beneath his calm facade. “Spoken like someone raised beside war councils.” A patronizing smile appears on his lips.

“I was.”

The violin rises into a sharper passage before softening once more beneath the piano’s slow rhythm.

King Raelith’s expression remains unreadable. “Riverath does not involve itself lightly in external conflicts.”

“Isolation is rarely sustainable,” Omar says, his gaze drifting toward Elara and Cael. “Your choice to secure an external marriage suggests you already understand this truth.”

Discomfort stirs within Elara at being drawn into a conversation she barely understands. Beside her, Cael remains perfectly composed, the faint tightening in his jaw betraying his restraint whenever Omar redirects attention toward their marriage.