"Lara, I've been looking everywhere for you."
Freya swept in from the grand ballroom, her gown trailing behind her like a banner of moonlight. She moved gracefully through the arched hallway to the east wing, finding Lara standing in front of the carved double doors of Faisala Hall. Her voice, though elegant, carried a note of concern. "I just went to the restroom after your dance, and when I came back, many people were gone."
Lara tilted her head slightly and gestured toward the room behind her. "Father is inside. They're discussing… something important."
Freya's expression tensed. But the worry melted away when she pieced the context together—this wasn't scandal or danger. This was protocol. Ceremony. The formal announcement of the heir. Her shoulders dropped in relief, and she offered her daughter a gentle smile.
"Come, then. Let us enjoy the feast before it grows cold," she said warmly, slipping her arm through Lara's and guiding her back toward the illuminated banquet hall.
