Mikhailis could feel the change in the hall the moment the final toast was made. The once-vibrant air, charged with revelry and laughter, seemed to take on a reflective hush. He noticed how even the servants moved more softly now, as though each step risked startling the gentle mood. Somewhere near the far side of the hall, a lute struck only the lightest chords, and the resulting melody floated on the edges of hearing. He liked this quieter ambience. It felt honest, in a way that the earlier grandeur, for all its splendor, never quite managed.
He turned to Elowen, meeting her gaze across the rim of his goblet. Her eyes still held a lingering sparkle from the evening's accolades. Yet there was something deeper there too: a recognition that they stood on the threshold of something new, a time in which alliances had to be carefully stewarded. Sensing his unspoken thought, she leaned in and touched her goblet to his. The musical clink was quiet but meaningful.
