The feast hall was filled with the sounds of clinking goblets and the laughter of lords and ladies alike. Jocelyn sat at the high table, dressed in a red gown. The banquet had been lavish, the food rich, and the company impressive. Yet, despite the grandeur, Jocelyn’s mood had soured.

She had asked for a particular dessert—honeyed figs —but it was not served. Instead, they had brought some simple berries.

Her lips twisted into a frown as she stared at the small bowl in front of her. Her patience, thin as always, snapped.

“Is this some kind of joke?” she snapped, her voice cutting through the hum of conversation. The eyes of the room turned toward her.

“I wanted figs! Honeyed figs!” Jocelyn’s voice rose in a sharp, high-pitched whine. Her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and fury. “This is unacceptable!”

When no one immediately moved to placate her, Jocelyn slammed her goblet onto the table, sending a splash of wine across the cloth. Then finally someone spoke up.