A King's Deception

A King's Deception

The grand feast hall was a spectacle of opulence, bathed in golden light from the massive chandeliers that hung overhead. King Idris had spared no expense—tables were laden with delicacies from across the Western Isles, exotic wines flowed freely, and the air was thick with the murmur of laughter and conversation. Yet, despite the grandeur, Seraphina felt none of the festivity. She sat stiffly beside Lucien, her eyes constantly scanning the room, her every sense heightened with unease.

Something was wrong. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach.

Idris, seated at the head of the table, wore a broad smile, raising his goblet frequently in toast to peace, unity, and prosperity. But beneath the king's jovial exterior, Seraphina had noticed the flickers of tension. His smile was too wide, his gestures too forced. The air around him buzzed with nervous energy, as though he were barely holding control over something far larger than the feast itself.