The elf palace was quieter than expected.
Despite its towering crystal halls and soft glowing sconces that pulsed like captured starlight, it felt still. Not tense — not quite — but watchful.
Like the whole structure had ears. Or perhaps, more accurately, eyes.
Specifically, the eyes of the Elf King, who had been glaring at Luka for the past twenty minutes.
Luka had counted.
Twenty minutes. No blinking.
Serene sat beside him, composed and radiant as always, her expression calm and unreadable — though Luka had caught her glancing at the king's furrowed brow with growing amusement.
Across the dinner table, Nuvian was delicately slicing through a piece of glimmering moonfish, utterly unbothered by her father's increasingly furrowed scowl.
She was in one of her rare good moods, evidenced by the fact she had both complimented Luka's hair and insulted Arthur in the same breath within the first five minutes of the meal.
