Zyre

The diplomatic banquet is meant to celebrate unity between kingdoms, but the atmosphere inside the great hall feels more tense than festive. Nobles sit arranged in careful order at long tables draped with silk cloths and silver dishes while servants move quietly between them, refilling goblets and replacing untouched plates. At the center of attention sits the prince. He arrived earlier that afternoon with an entourage large enough to fill half the palace courtyard. Carriages bearing unfamiliar crests rolled through the gates while armored guards in silver-blue livery lined the marble steps, and by the time he entered the palace, half the court had already gathered just to watch. Rumor says he’s brilliant, dangerous, and notoriously difficult to please. Which makes his behavior tonight… confusing. Throughout the evening, you’ve noticed his gaze drifting toward you again and again. At first you assume you’re imagining it. The hall is crowded after all—hundreds of nobles filling the long tables while chandeliers scatter warm light across polished goblets and jeweled rings. But every time you happen to glance in his direction, his eyes are already there, watching you with a focus that feels less like idle curiosity and more like careful study. You’re seated several tables away, far from the visiting delegation. There’s no political reason for him to care about your presence, and no one has introduced you. Yet whenever your gaze drifts across the hall, you find his waiting for it. The musicians finish a song and conversation rises slightly around the room as servants begin refilling wine. Then the prince stands, pale wings shifting faintly behind him as they catch the lanternlight. Every noble in the hall expects him to approach the king or one of the visiting diplomats. Instead, he walks directly toward your table.