Chapter 819: Customs ?
Thalor’s applause faded into the hush—a signal perfectly timed, almost orchestrated. Every eye flicked to Rowen Drayke, standing firm beside the mage, and then to the Lorian delegation at the far end of the hall.
Rowen’s grip stayed loose once more—steady, resolute. The son of the Knight Commander had volunteered, and the court had accepted. Now all that remained was the final piece.
Thalor’s gaze swept across the Lorian students before settling on their leader: Prince Adrian, tall and composed, every inch royalty. Not an unfamiliar name in diplomatic circles—his presence here underscored the Empire’s intent.
He inclined his head toward Adrian, courteous but precise.
"Prince Adrian," Thalor said, voice even, carrying a silent challenge. "What do you think of our little competition?"
Silence rippled like static, the air tense with unspoken meaning. All that remained was the response.
Adrian stepped forward—an easy movement that spoke of confidence nurtured by expectation, but tinged with diplomacy. He paused just before reaching the center, where Lucavion, Lucien, Rowen, and Thalor now formed a silent quadrangle of power.
The room leaned in; the wine glasses caught the chandelier light.
Adrian’s voice rang out: smooth, measured, acknowledging yet not yielding.
"This... is a fine proposal."
He paused deliberately, letting the weight of his words settle.
Thalor’s smile never cracked, but inwardly he exhaled a breath touched with amusement.