The banquet soon ended beneath the flickering glow of chandeliers and the fading echoes of laughter. Goblets had long been emptied, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine still lingering like a ghost in the air.
Prince Reuben, flushed and unsteady from countless toasts raised in his honor, was gently ushered away by attendants, his laughter slurring into incoherent murmurs as he vanished down the corridor toward his chambers.
In the grand hall, Queen Helga stood with practiced grace, bidding farewell to Freya and her kin. Her voice was warm, her gestures regal, until a palace maid approached, head bowed low, and whispered something urgently into her ear.
A shadow passed over Helga's face—a crack in the face of calmness. Her smile faltered for the briefest moment before she smoothed it back into place with the elegance of someone who had mastered the art of appearances. She waved gracefully at the departing guests, her demeanor as radiant as ever.