The evening banquet was a carefully orchestrated affair, as all things were under Baroness Cleora's direction. The great hall blazed with candlelight, warming the tapestries that lined the walls. The long tables groaned under the weight of Barony's finest dishes—roasted pheasant with herbs from the castle gardens, fresh bread still warm from the ovens, wines from the family's private cellars.
Roblan sat at his mother's right hand, freshly bathed and dressed in house colours, though his eyes rarely left his plate. Sitting across from him, Nora alternated between glaring at her brother and engaging in pointed conversation with Lady Maena about the current political climate in the eastern provinces.
