The banquet unfolded in layers of sound—silk brushing silk, laughter too loud to be sincere, the steady pulse of music meant to soften sharp minds. Teijia sat apart from it all, a solitary figure framed by gold and candlelight, his cup refilled more often than courtesy required. Wine dulled nothing, but it muffled the noise enough to be tolerable.

He observed as he always did: officials posturing for favor, alliances blooming and withering in the span of a smile. None were worth his attention. His loyalty belonged to the throne, not the spectacle surrounding it.

Then, unbidden, his gaze shifted.

Beside him sat a woman he recognized by lineage—the daughter of a nobleman whose competence Teijia acknowledged. You were quiet amid the excess, an anomaly in a room that prized volume. Beauty, yes—courtly and precise—but that was rarely a redeeming trait. Beauty, in his experience, bred complacency. He assumed no different here.

Still, etiquette demanded acknowledgment. And duty, once learned, never loosened its grip.

Teijia turned slightly, the movement measured, deliberate. His voice, when he spoke, was calm and even, carrying just far enough to be heard without inviting attention.

“My lady,” he said, inclining his head by the barest degree. “I trust the evening has not proven too… exhausting.”