The first sound was the gentle clatter of doors unlatching somewhere behind the royal dais. Luke turned instinctively, along with half the hall, as the servants and maids began filing in—first a neat line of them carrying polished plates and silverware, then another wave balancing trays draped in embroidered cloths. The crisp aroma of fresh herbs hit the air first, followed by the unmistakable scent of roasted meat.
And not just any meat.
Nateron's version of "beef" came from creatures Luke still couldn't say with a straight face back on Earth—because there was no universe where grilled tiger ribs or honey-glazed wolf cutlets would've sounded normal. But after living here long enough, Luke's stomach reacted before his brain did. These days, the scent of slow-roasted panther flank just made him hungry.
