King Alf rose once more, his chair scraping softly against the polished stone floor. The shift in the hall was immediate—voices dropped, heads turned, and a respectful hush fell upon the crowd. The warmth of the feast still lingered heavily in the air, but now the people settled, attentive, ready.
Alf's expression held that familiar mix of duty and pride. He raised a hand gently, signalling that this was not another grand address of war or heroism—just something simple, something human.
"My brave knights," he began, voice echoing through the vaulted chamber, "I trust your stomachs are full… but not too full."
A ripple of amused murmurs moved across the hall.
"Because," Alf continued, his tone lightening. "I am well aware the meal served tonight was hardly enough to repay all your valour. And as such, we shall end this lunch properly—with dessert."
That single word—dessert—passed through the crowd like a spell.
