Steam rose gently from the table, curls of fragrant heat swirling above grilled meats, honeyed root vegetables, and spiced rice wrapped in thin leaves. The hall was warm, filled with the light hum of voices and clinking dishes—modest by royal standards, but home to them now.
Asmodeus sat at the centre, his long hair pulled loosely over one shoulder. On his right, Vinea quietly peeled fruit, dropping pale slices onto his plate with care.
Alice rested her elbow beside him, sipping from a deep clay cup while occasionally brushing his thigh with hers under the table. Asmodea leaned heavily against his left arm, chewing with puffed cheeks as if her life depended on it.
The meal carried a strange yet calming atmosphere.
"You're eating like you haven't seen meat in months," Alice teased.
"I haven't!" Asmodea shot back. "Everything in Grigor is boiled. Even their bread tastes like warm towels!"
Asmodeus chuckled under his breath.
