The pavilion stood at the heart of her garden, its marble arches glowing pale gold in the afternoon light.
Roses from the Emperor's private garden filled tall glass vases along the table. Each bloom shimmered faintly, touched with blue waves of mana woven into the petals.
This was no simple gift. The Emperor had bred this variety himself and sent them here to honor the guests and, above all, to show devotion to his only daughter.
Their fragrance drifted sweet and heavy through the air, mixing with the warm scent of sunlit stone.
Metheea sat at the head of the long marble table, her back straight, her hands resting lightly on the carved armrests of her chair.
The nobles had been seated with care. The most powerful families were placed nearest to her, their silks bright against the white marble, while the lesser lords and ladies sat farther away, whispering among themselves.
