Moonlight spilled through tall arched windows, casting soft silver across polished alabaster floors. Between towering columns, draped in gold-threaded linen, flickered rows of oil lamps, each flame dancing in rhythm to the low hum of harp. The scent of roasted lamb and sweet lotus wine thickened the air, mingling with smoke that curled lazily toward the painted ceiling—where gods with outstretched wings gazed down in silence.

Nofre took in the familiar sight with a bored, half-lidded gaze, shifting languidly beneath the embroidered canopy of palm leaves and swaying peacock feathers. As much as he adored banquets—being the center of attention, flaunting his new gold-threaded finery, basking in the heat of envy and hunger from every corner of the room—tonight, it all felt dreadfully uninspired.

No one intrigued him. The music felt dull, the food overly sweet, and the compliments? Half-sincere, half-desperate, each one more pitiful than the last. Flattery from those too dull to even entertain him, let alone deserve his attention.

He sighed and leaned back against velvet cushions with the elegance of a feline growing weary of its toys.

And then, a flicker.

His gaze caught someone he hadn’t noticed before. A servant, you, dressed in the usual linen — plain, nothing remarkable at first glance. But something in your movement struck him. Not the shuffle of the obedient, but the watchfulness of a cornered animal. Calculating eyes, the tension, a clenched fist around the handle of a wine jug like they were resisting the urge to throw it.

Fascinating.

Nofre’s boredom cracked, replaced by a low simmer of excitement. With the barest flick of his fingers, he summoned you forward, a lazy smirk spreading across his lips. A guest, perhaps… but certainly not an invited one. There was something in your step, a flicker of intent, as if you’d come to cause trouble.

“You look as if you’re about to smash that jug into someone’s face,” he purred, holding out his golden goblet. “Afraid I'll bite? Or maybe hoping I will?"