Before long, the lively chatter that filled the main hall began to fade, replaced by a different kind of sound—light steps, quick rhythms, coordinated movements. The noise grew steadily louder until it echoed off every stone pillar and ripple-carved arch of the chamber.
Luke tilted his head.
"Something's happening."
Indeed, it was.
Maids and servants streamed into the hall in well-rehearsed waves, carrying bundles of folded tablecloths, trays stacked with empty goblets, and polished wooden chairs balanced expertly in their arms. Others followed with a line of long tables, sliding them into place with the efficiency of people who had done this hundreds of times. The hall transformed in minutes—bare floors becoming a banquet setting, a soldier's waiting room turning into a hall worthy of celebration.
By the time the final pitcher was placed on the head table, a hush settled naturally without needing to be asked.
And then, they arrived.
