The hour of the banquet had arrived, and Mero, accompanied by his faithful companions, made his way to the grand dining hall of the palace. As they passed through the heavy doors adorned with sculpted motifs, the room opened before them in all its splendor. Immense, it was supported by tall pillars of white marble, their surfaces carved with floral volutes and silhouettes of legendary creatures that seemed to dance under the soft light. Above their heads, crystal chandeliers sparkled like captured stars, casting a warm and inviting glow that enveloped the hall in an almost ethereal atmosphere. The walls, adorned with large tapestries in deep hues, told the story of the kingdom of Qit: heroic battles, coronations under flaming skies, and feasts where laughter from days gone by still echoed in the threads of gold and purple.

  At the heart of the hall stretched a long table, laden with sumptuous dishes arranged with studied elegance. Silver platters bowed under the weight of roasted meats with golden crusts, marinated fish exuding aromas of herbs and lemon, and grilled vegetables spiced with northern flavors that tantalized the nostrils. Baskets overflowed with still-warm bread, their crispy crusts yielding slightly under the pressure of fingers, while bowls brimmed with exotic fruits—vibrant pomegranates, juicy figs, and brightly colored berries. Carafes of dark red wine and amber liqueurs sparkled under the chandeliers' reflections, ready to be served. Mero felt a pang of hunger, but he straightened up, aware of the importance of the evening.

  The guests were already seated around the table. Nobles of Qit, draped in gold-embroidered silks, mingled with a few imperial dignitaries whose insignia shone with a cold authority. At the place of honor sat the Emperor, his sharp gaze scrutinizing the room with silent gravity. Beside him, the King of Qit, more affable, exchanged murmurs with a counselor, a discreet smile on his lips. Hélène, the imperial princess, was seated not far from her grandfather, her regal bearing and calm demeanor betraying her ease in this world of grandeur. Mero and his companions, personal guests of Ki, had been placed beside her, a distinction that drew a few curious glances from the nobles.

  No sooner had they taken their seats than servants in impeccable livery approached, pouring fragrant wines and delicate liqueurs into their cups. Mero raised the cup to his lips, letting the robust wine—a burst of spices and ripe fruits typical of the north—warm his throat. The meal began with a series of refined appetizers: slices of smoked meats with woody notes, marinated fish of exquisite freshness, and grilled vegetables whose northern spices boldly tickled the tongue. Then came the main courses: tender roasts that melted under the knife, rich and complex stews, and game from the deep forests of Qit, its tender meat infused with wild flavors.

  Ki, seated next to Mero, leaned towards him with a mischievous smile. "So, what do you think of our cuisine?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with amused curiosity.

  Dorian, true to his natural elegance, replied with measured courtesy, "Delicious. The flavors are rich, perfectly balanced."

  Mandarine, exploring a spicy sauce with childlike curiosity, added, "Surprising. It's like a fire of spices in the mouth, but... I like it." She flashed a sly smile, clearly won over.

  Sven, absorbed by a piece of game, was too busy to respond, his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's. Eléonore giggled softly. "I think we have our answer," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with laughter.

  Mero observed his companions, a discreet smile on his lips. He had expected a stiff evening, weighed down by the imperial presence, but the atmosphere was surprisingly light. Ki and her father, the king, had managed to infuse the banquet with a warmth almost familial. Laughter bubbled up here and there, discreet but genuine, and even the imperial dignitaries seemed to relax, their shoulders easing under the influence of wine and conviviality.

  Suddenly, the Emperor raised his cup, and a respectful silence fell over the hall. All eyes turned to him. "You have traveled far and faced many trials this year," he declared, his deep voice echoing through the marble pillars. "May this evening mark the beginning of a memorable summer."

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Mero raised his glass in turn, imitated by his companions. A thrill of excitement mixed with a hint of apprehension coursed through him. Something in the Emperor's tone, in the way his words hung in the air, suggested that this stay in Qit would be more than just a respite. He met Mandarine's gaze, who offered him a luminous smile, her eyes shining with the same silent anticipation.

  The toast continued in a chorus of gently clinking cups, the tinkling of crystal resonating like a fragile promise. They drank to the health of the Emperor, the King of Qit, their families, and the bonds that united them, each sip sealing an unspoken wish. The wine, with its spicy notes, warmed Mero's heart, momentarily chasing away his wandering thoughts.

  Conversation resumed around the table, a mix of anecdotes from the past year and questions about the customs of Qit. Ki, brimming with enthusiasm, regaled them with tales of her people's traditions, particularly the long summer nights when festivities stretched over several days. "Tomorrow, I'll take you to see the summer capital," she announced, her hands gesturing excitedly. "There, you'll see the true life of Qit, far from the palaces and gilding."

  Mandarine raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. Luxury had never impressed her; she preferred raw, authentic experiences. Sven and Eléonore exchanged a complicit glance, already eager for the adventure, while Dorian nodded discreetly, his curiosity piqued.

  At the other end of the table, the Emperor and the King of Qit conversed in low voices, their heads bent towards each other. Mero watched them for a moment, wondering what affairs of state could occupy their minds at such a time. Yet, their presence did not seem to weigh down the atmosphere. Perhaps they saw in him and his companions a new generation, destined to shape the future of the Empire. This thought sent a shiver down his spine, a mix of pride and responsibility.

  As the banquet drew to a close, musicians entered, bearing instruments with enchanting sounds: swift-rhythmed drums, flutes with crystalline notes, and vibrant strings that seemed to caress the soul. Music filled the hall, and soon, the guests rose, drawn in by the melodies of the north.

  Mandarine nearly leaped from her chair, her eyes shining with pure joy. She launched into the dance, twirling with instinctive grace, her laughter ringing out like a cascade of light in the hall. She reached out her hand to Mero, inviting him to join her. He hesitated for a moment, but the spark in Mandarine's eyes swept away his doubts. He stood up, took her hand, and spun her around, his awkward steps contrasting with her agility. She laughed, her hair swirling like flames under the chandeliers.

  Ki, an expert in traditional dances, guided the group with natural ease, teaching them the complex steps of Qit. Hélène, initially reserved, eventually yielded to the collective momentum, her imperial grace blending into the exuberance of the moment. Sven and Eléonore engaged in a livelier dance, a friendly challenge where each vied for precision and energy. Dorian, meanwhile, danced with calculated elegance, each movement executed like a work of art.

  Mero let himself be carried away by the rhythm, guided by Mandarine. He stumbled once or twice, but she laughed it off, her joy unabated. For an instant, the world faded away: the nobles' gazes, the Emperor's imposing stature, the uncertainties of tomorrow. There was only the music, the warmth of her hand in his, and the raw joy that pulsed in the air.

  The night stretched on, the music never fading. The banquet transformed into a resplendent celebration of life and friendship, where hierarchies seemed to dissolve in the warmth of the moment. Mero felt a gentle fatigue wash over him, but he didn't want it to end. Each second spent here, surrounded by those he cherished, was worth more than all the treasures of the palace.

  Finally, as the moon shone high in the sky, they retired to their chambers. Mero and Mandarine, exhausted but content, slipped under the silken sheets of the grand canopied bed. The coolness of the silk soothed their skin, heated from the dance, and a light breeze, carrying the scent of garden flowers, wafted through the room. Mandarine murmured a few sleepy words, her soft voice like a feather against his ear. Mero ran a hand through her hair, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

  The salty scent of the sea was missing, he knew—a void he often felt. She too was missed when they were apart, an absence that hollowed his heart more than he admitted. But tonight, there was neither lack nor regret, only the peaceful certainty of their mutual presence. He closed his eyes, lulled by the calm sound of Mandarine's breathing against his skin. The journey, the celebration, the Emperor... all of that could wait until tomorrow. For now, there was only the two of them, in the peaceful silence of the palace of Qit.