The tunic was too tight.
Lucan tugged at the collar as the attendant smoothed the fabric along his shoulders and fastened the final clasp.
"Do they really wear this every time they eat?" he asked, half-joking.
The attendant didn't look up. "Not usually. But Lord Emberlily has summoned the lords of the county. It's a formal feast, not a supper."
Lucan stopped fidgeting with the collar. "The other lords?"
The attendant nodded and stepped back. "You'll want to speak carefully tonight, sir."
Lucan swallowed hard.
The banquet hall in Emberkeep was not built for beauty. It was made of stone with high windows that bled in twilight and a single long table of polished blackwood. Emberlily and Lyra by its head, Lyra began to sit while her father stood, hands behind his back.
"You're early," Emberlily said.
"I-" Lucan hesitated. "I wanted to be."
"Good. Sit by my left."
Lyra offered him a quiet smile as he moved past her. She wore a deep crimson gown tonight, her hair pinned up with a silver clasp shaped like the flower of their house, an emberlily.
Thorne entered not long after, his heavy boots echoing as he approached.
"Lucan," he said with a grin that was half reprimand, half pride. "I heard you were still training this morning."
This earned a glare from Lord Emberlily, the type that could pierce any shield wall.
Lucan rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled nervously. "Felt strange resting. I wasn't sure what else to do."
Emberlily almost threw the words at him, "Then you've not learned the first lesson of battle. Rest is vital."
Thorne clapped him on the shoulder and took his seat beside Lyra. The others arrived not long after.
Lord Sylas Redwyn of Vaelmark was the first. He was tall, lean, and dressed in layered silks stitched with his house's burgundy crest. He looked like he basked in the eyes that followed him, like a movie star in his old world.
"Caedric," he said to Lord Emberlily, smiling faintly. "A feast, and only one measly skirmish to precede it. You've gone soft."
Then came Lady Ilyeene Wulfrain of Duskwatch. Her attire was leather trimmed in gray fur; she looked fierce, like a wolf ready to strike. She walked with her hands behind her back, as though entering a battlefield, not a hall. She gave Emberlily a firm nod and sat without ceremony.
Lastly, Lord Mavren Haldrick of Fellwood entered. Broad-shouldered and gray-bearded, he wore a forest-green mantle clasped with a wooden medallion. He moved slowly but with quiet purpose, like a tree that chose when to sway. He bowed, respectfully, to Emberlily and to the other lords, then took his place across from Thorne.
When the first courses were brought in, they revealed spiced venison, roasted greens, and thick bread glazed with honey. Once they got into the food, Emberlily finally broke the silence.
"I'm sure you've heard of the clash with Greenreach."
Redwyn sipped from his goblet. "We heard you attacked that weasel, explains why you called us here and not him."
"I responded to sabotage," Emberlily said. "Ryswald was refusing to sign a trade treaty for a reasonable price. He started a riot in our town, Brightstead, then proceeded to poison the ale for our soldiers. I rode out after that and handled it then and there. I met his vanguard outside Greenreach Keep and had him scrambling for a parley. We sat, signed trade, and made peace."
"Sounds like a victory," Wulfrain said flatly. "If it's the end and not the start of something."
Redwyn leaned back. "That halfwit brat shouldn't have had Greenreach in the first place. Everyone knows his father gifted him the hold to make space for his second son back in Brindlewatch."
Haldrick gave a low breath through his nose. "Even if the rumors are true, they're poison at this table."
Redwyn raised a brow. "Rumors are how most things start, old friend."
Emberlily did not smile. "I did what I must. Greenreach remains within the fold."
"A firm hand, well-played," Lady Wulfrain said. "But keep the borders tight. My scouts have seen more movement near the marshes."
Haldrick sighed, "Nevertheless, the boy is not suited to rule a hold. I would have been pleased to see Count Caelonder attend this feast to hear his thoughts."
The second course then arrived, and Redwyn gestured toward Lucan with his goblet.
"And who is the boy? A squire with a seat? I assume this is not another bastard son we're all expected to smile at."
Lucan stiffened.
Emberlily's eyes flicked toward him. "This is Lucan. Not a noble. But also not an ordinary boy."
Redwyn's brows rose, the ghost of a grin playing at his lips. "A commoner, at your table? How modern of you, Caedric."
"He has proven himself useful. More than once."
"Hm." Redwyn turned his gaze back to Lucan, assessing. "Then I imagine you have your reasons. Or perhaps plans. Some men sow fields, others... bloodlines."
Lucan glanced down at his plate, unsure what he meant. Lyra didn't seem to notice. Emberlily's expression didn't change.
"Best not to read too far into noble words, young man," Haldrick said calmly. "They tend to say three things at once."
Wulfrain grunted. "Only one of which matters."
Redwyn looked up almost in pity for himself, "Oh, you lot are no fun."
The conversation turned toward Duskwatch's increasing skirmishes with nightbeasts, Vaelmark's recent petition to Eirenfall over river tariffs, and Fellwood's effort to clear new roads through the north forest. Through it all, Lucan listened more than he spoke, aware of every glance, every word.
Thorne spoke occasionally, often to counter Redwyn's barbed remarks or support Wulfrain's assessments of local threats. He seemed to be siding with her on most issues brought up.
The wine softened edges but sharpened intentions. Every word that sounded casual had a weight behind it. Every silence held meaning.
Lucan listened more than he spoke, but in that silence he began to understand: this was not dinner. This was war, just waged with smiles and forks instead of blades.
And Emberlily had placed him here for a reason.