The hall had not yet resumed its full rhythm.
Not completely.
Not after that.
The entrance of the Lorian envoy had left the air faintly charged—polished, smiling, cordial on the surface, yet beneath it, something simmered. A low thrum of unspoken satisfaction that hummed beneath every clipped toast and artful exchange.
Valeria stood near one of the central terrace alcoves, the faint glow of ambient mana catching the silver runes on her gown. She was flanked by two nobles from allied houses—Ser Damanth of House Terevas and Lady Irelenne of Vorthellas—both mid-tier families with enough prestige to matter, and enough tact to know whom to align with.
"And there it is," Damanth murmured into the rim of his glass, eyes flicking toward the Lorian table. "House Lorian, seated after the probationary initiates. I don't think I've seen that level of subtle insult executed with such... refinement."
