The morning light in Arcania's inner ward always arrived with an air of deliberate majesty—soft, gold-dusted, and polished by runes that ensured it never felt too sharp. It flooded the grand dining hall through tall aether-glass windows, washing over the polished silverware and cascading across the white-onyx floor like water made of sunlight.
Lucavion arrived first.
Of course he did.
He always did.
He sat with one leg crossed over the other, already halfway through his tea—today, a sharper blend, something that bit the tongue and didn't apologize. His breakfast remained untouched. He had no appetite for food when the day promised far richer indulgences.
Elayne entered next—silent as always, her presence so soft it barely displaced air. She took her seat diagonally across from Lucavion, giving only the faintest glance of acknowledgment. She didn't ask if he'd already reviewed his offers.
She knew he had.
