Dayat's footsteps felt uncharacteristically light as he traversed the long, winding corridors of the Emerald Palace's East Wing, yet the air around him felt as heavy as lead. The soothing fragrance of Kenanga flowers, which usually drifted through the palace as a natural sedative, seemed to fail in its task tonight; it could not pierce the fog of suspicion that had been left behind by the tension of the banquet.
Behind him, Kancil walked with a buoyant skip, humming a nonsensical tune under his breath. The boy from the gutters of Bakasa was practically glowing with satisfaction, his stomach full of the succulent stag venison he had just devoured. Beside Dayat, Lunethra walked with her usual regal grace, yet her brow was pinched by a thin, persistent crease—a clear sign that the eldest princess of the Elves was still processing the verbal sparring that had occurred at the dining table.
