The dining hall, when they reached it, was smaller than Elian had braced for.
It was not the vast echoing chamber he’d expected from a palace, but something much more deliberately intimate, a long table set beneath a high, arched ceiling, candlelight instead of the colder glow he’d seen in the corridors. All of it situated close enough for the residents to hear each other without raising their voices.
Though it still managed to feel enormous in every way that mattered.
A handful of guests were already gathered near the table when they arrived, conversation hanging low and unhurried.
Rudra, who Elian had already guessed would be here, stood near one end in solitude, his demeanor as composed as ever. He was dressed in dark formal wear that suited him the way everything seemed to suit him always—the clothing hanging off of him without any effort, without apparent thought.
He caught sight of them entering and inclined his head in greeting. Though Elian did something close to shell shock touching his expression when his gaze landed on Elian.
The golden prince cleared his throat, and then turned around, apparently having decided that Elian and Oizys were strangers to him.
Nearer the head of the table stood a boy who could only be Oizys’s brother—the same glowing silver hair, though the around him younger, maybe twelve or thirteen, sharing her sharp features but none of her restraint yet, practically vibrating with barely contained energy despite his formal dress.
He spotted Oizys first and made a beeline straight for her.
"You said you’d bring him," he said, without preamble, staring frankly up at Elian with wide, curious eyes like he was inspecting a particularly interesting specimen. "You didn’t say he’d look like that."
"Cassian." Oizys’s voice carried the exact flat warning tone of someone who had clearly had this exact conversation with this exact person many times before. "Manners."
"I didn’t say anything rude, I was trying to make observation." Cassian didn’t look remotely chastened. "I’m just saying, the reports made him sound so scary. Nobody mentioned that he’d look prettier than you and mother combined."
Elian felt his ears go warm and had no immediate idea what to do with his own face.
"Ignore him," Oizys said, steering her brother firmly by the shoulder toward the rest of the table before he could do further damage. "Unfortunately he didn’t get the serious gene from our family, I don’t think he’s ever said a sentence before waiting to think about it first."
Taking a deep breath, Elian decided that studying the room would be his.. best course of action in distracting himself from the kid’s comments.
Further down the table, a broad, silver-bearded man in a dark formal suit was deep in conversation with two others Elian didn’t recognize—their uniforms suggesting military rank, the kind of quiet, unhurried authority that came from decades of people listening when they spoke.
The bearded man glanced over at the new arrivals, which Elian had reasons that he only turned because he sensed their gazes, and something about the set of his brow was instantly, unmistakably familiar.
"That’s Duke Ashworth," Oizys murmured, low enough for only Elian to hear. "Cordelia’s father. If he come greets you, try not to mention the incident with the exploding inkwell from two weeks ago if it comes up. He’s still bitter about the desk, Cordelia almost drowned the entire manner ink apparently."
Elian took a deep breath, cleared his throat.
"That’s quite the story."
"There’s several. Later though, when we’re free after dinenr." She nudged him gently forward, toward the table, toward where Rudra was standing in particular, who looked like a very reserved, but cornered pray when he saw them walking over. "Come on. Let’s get you through this in one piece."
"Hello Rudra." Elian said by way of greeting.
Rudra cleared his throat. "Hello Elian."
And yeah, It was just painfully awkward silence between them after that. Only Oizys seemingly enjoying the prince’s bashfulness with Elian.
Thankfully, they only had to wait for a few longer when the room’s quiet conversation dropped to near-silence all at once, and Elian didn’t need anyone to tell him why.
The King and Queen of Selenoire entered from a side door, not announced by any herald, no ceremony beyond the simple fact of their arrival being enough to still the room on its own.
King Aurelian Selenoire was a tall man with grey threading through dark hair, carrying himself with the kind of preciseness that suggested decades of practice drilled in for combat.
Beside him, Queen Isolde Rosemere Selenoire moved with an entirely different energy—warmer, quicker, her gaze sweeping the room once before landing, unmistakably, on Elian.
"Ah," she said, already crossing toward him before anyone had formally announced anything at all, ignoring protocol with the easy confidence of someone who’d earned the right to. "There he is!"
She said it with so much warmth and excitement that Elian felt like a Christmas gift for a moment.
Oizys, beside him, murmured under her breath, "Brace yourself, she’s been looking forward to this."
Elian barely had time to attempt a bow before the queen reached him, and to his considerable surprise, she took his hand in both of hers instead of waiting for any formal gesture, studying his face with open, completely unhidden warmth.
"Elian Valcourt." Her voice carried the same unmistakable cadence from the letter, careful and deliberate, like she’d chosen every word in advance. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I know it wasn’t a small thing to ask."
"It’s... an honor, Your Majesty." He managed, mostly, not to trip over the words. "Thank you for having me."
"The honor’s mine, I think, given the circumstances." Something calculating flickered behind her eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by something much more gentler. "You’ve had a difficult season I heard. I wanted to see for myself that you were bearing up under it."
King Aurelian stepped up beside her, offering Elian a measured nod rather than Isolde’s warmth, though not unkind for it.
"Lord Valcourt." His voice was low, even. "My daughter speaks well of you. That’s not something she offers lightly."
Elian gave the king the deepest bow he could muster.
"He exaggerates my standards," Oizys said dryly as she gave him a small bow too, though the faint color at her cheeks suggested otherwise.
"I do not exaggerate anything," King Aurelian said, entirely deadpan, and for one disorienting second Elian caught the exact same dry humor in the King that lived constantly just under Oizys’s surface.
Then he turned to address the room in its entirety.
"Come. Sit, everyone. We’ll speak properly once the first course is through—I find serious conversation goes down worse on an empty stomach."
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