The night of the banquet finaly began.
The grand entrance hall of the demon palace had been transformed into a dazzling theatre of elegance and menace.
Every inch gleamed under the glow of floating chandeliers—each crystal a shard of magically-suspended starlight, casting fractured beams over the obsidian walls.
Silks the color of midnight and ember swayed from the high arches. The scent of spiced wine, roasted meats, and enchanted orchid blossoms hung thick in the air.
Malvoria stood at the top of the staircase, her hands folded behind her back, the heavy doors below swinging open and closed again and again as nobles, warriors, and foreign dignitaries spilled into the palace.
The marble beneath her boots shimmered with ancient runes etched in gold, pulsing softly to welcome those with proper blood or invitation.
A hundred conversations echoed through the hall laughter, greetings, the clink of rings and weapons. She noted every voice. Every pair of eyes.
