The banquet hall of the Governor's Palace in Lys.
Crystal chandeliers lit the hall as brightly as daylight, their radiance playing over costly carpets, silver tableware, and the guests' splendid robes.
The air mingled the cloying scents of perfume, roast meat, and aged wine, yet none of it could mask the taut, oppressive tension simmering beneath the surface.
Nearly every noble of consequence in the Lys City-State had gathered here tonight.
Some wore restrained smiles as they exchanged quiet greetings with acquaintances; others glanced about, unease written on their faces; still others looked livid, barely containing their anger.
Everyone knew this banquet meant trouble.
Beside the hall's main dais stood Casimir Antaryon, wearing extravagant plate armor overloaded with intricate designs and gemstones, his arms folded and his usual frivolous smile on his lips.
His gaze swept back and forth across several nobles who opposed his father's policies, like a barbed hook.
He deliberately raised his voice as he discussed certain fools who "didn't know their place" and "couldn't see which way the wind was blowing" with the lackeys beside him, drawing a ripple of stifled snickers.
The nobles caught beneath his gaze looked utterly grim, their knuckles whitening around their wine cups.
Yet none dared lash out here, in the heart of the Governor's Palace, under the eyes of guards clad in fine plate armor, their hands resting on their sword hilts.
"Enough, Casimir." A calm yet commanding voice rang out.
Governor Dorian Antaryon walked slowly out of a side chamber.
He wore a deep purple robe embroidered with gold, his hair impeccably combed, his customary, unreadable smile on his face.
He raised a hand in a restraining gesture, putting an end to his son's provocations. As his gaze swept the room, most of the murmuring instantly ceased.
"Everyone, please