The Grand Dawn Banquet was, in theory, a sacred ceremony. A diplomatic gathering of nobles, clerics, and paladins — all draped in layers of silk, gold, and strained patience.
At the center of the long, carved oak table sat Liora, dressed like the perfect daughter of light. Lace gloves, a golden gown, flawless posture. But her half-lidded red eyes betrayed her true state of mind.
"Lady Liora," said an elderly bishop with a forced smile, "what did you think of the floral arrangements?"
"Delicate as... feathers in the wind," she replied, pausing just long enough to suppress a less diplomatic answer. Her fingers gripped the goblet so tightly, it looked like the glass might crack.
Across the table, Luziel watched her like a knight bracing for a thunderstorm. Ever since he'd taken up the role of Liora's official escort at formal events, he'd lived in a constant state of alert. It was like guarding a dragon disguised as a noble lady.
"If you want, I could spill wine on the host," he whispered, pretending to adjust his collar. "Nothing like a minor scandal to cut the evening short."
Liora smiled without turning her head. "Save that for when I try to jump out the window."
On the opposite side, Morian nibbled on candied fruit with a calm that felt almost provocative. His eyes, however, didn't leave Liora for a second.
Then, a young lady approached with a carefully arranged bouquet.
"Lady Liora," she said with a sweet smile, "these flowers were picked from the Sanctuary Garden. They say they only bloom in the presence of truly virtuous souls."
Liora accepted the bouquet, eyeing the petals with all the enthusiasm of someone examining a magical trap. "How curious. I've never heard of flowers making moral judgments."
The young lady laughed nervously and quickly retreated.
Luziel leaned in again. "I thought you were going to tear them in half."
"And miss dinner?" Liora raised an eyebrow. "I'm a civilized woman."
A short while later, a new dish was served — a sweet spring stew. Liora stared at it like one would a suspicious potion. She took a spoonful… and paused.
"Morian," she muttered, "this tastes like concentrated light."
"It's honey and herbs. A traditional recipe."
"Traditional for who? Retired angels?"
Morian gave a small smile. "You're doing well."
"That's what worries me."
Soon after, the host duke stood and launched into a fifteen-minute speech on the importance of spiritual harmony in political alliances. Liora rested her elbow on the table, earning a subtle kick from Luziel under it.
"Etiquette," he whispered.
"I commanded three infernal regiments," she muttered through gritted teeth. "I think I can handle a duke without throwing myself across the table."
Still, the tension in her shoulders was clear. When the speech finally ended, Morian rose and made a discreet gesture toward the doors.
Liora followed, gratitude written all over her face. Luziel came right behind, nearly tripping on his own cloak.
Outside, under torchlight and the cool night air, Liora took a deep breath.
"If I survive one more of these dinners, I might retire to the countryside. Grow onions. Something peaceful."
"With the occasional explosion?" Luziel asked.
"Only if the onions misbehave."
Morian smiled at her. "Tea?"
"As long as it doesn't sing."