There's a world of difference between a buffet and a proper royal dinner—casual or not.
A buffet is a declaration of chaos, served politely. Food arranged on long tables with hopeful labels, guests circling like cautious predators, and at least one person spilling sauce near the punch. It thrives on self-service and silent judgment.
A royal dinner—even a "casual" one—is an orchestrated performance. Assigned seating (loosely enforced), perfectly timed courses (mostly), and just enough silverware to make someone question their upbringing. There are enchantments to keep food warm, drinks chilled, and conversations vaguely respectful. Everything must look effortless, even if the entire staff is sprinting behind the scenes to maintain the illusion.
Tonight was the second kind. Barely.
Behind the charm-lit arches of Alex's courtyard, the staff moved like trained shadows. Spells disguised as lanterns floated perfectly overhead. Waitstaff carried trays like they were born doing it. Conversations were strategically placed. No one panicked. Out loud.
Inside, the kitchen whispered like a brewing storm. Selena moved through the chaos like a warden of order. Utensils hovered, spices flew into pots, and someone was sobbing quietly behind the bread station. But none of it reached the guests.
At least, not yet.
Riven arrived first, of course. Dressed more sharply than usual, coat crisp and boots polished like he had something to prove—or just wanted to make everyone else feel underdressed. He walked in with Seena Vey beside him, her posture composed but guarded, eyes darting just enough to reveal she was still processing the whole 'recruited-by-a-prince-in-public' part of her week.
"You're early," Alex said as he approached from the far side of the garden.
"You're lucky I'm not fashionably late," Riven replied. "Though I am questioning your recruitment pattern. You've now scooped up two of the top sound-affinity apprentices for this dinner. What's next—start your own concert troupe?"
Alex grinned. "Only if the costumes are optional."
Seena gave a tiny, nervous laugh, then immediately regretted it and looked down. Alex noticed.
He turned toward her, voice softer. "You showed up. That already means more than you think."
She nodded slightly. "Still not sure I belong here."
"Good," he said. "That means you're smarter than half the people who think they do."
Riven shook his head. "You've got a talent for sincerity when it's least expected."
"Sincerity is my second strongest magic," Alex replied. "Right after planned improvisation."
They walked further in as the lanterns overhead flared slightly warmer, signaling the approach of more guests.
They came in trickles at first, then in groups.
Elsha Marr arrived with two fellow alchemy apprentices trailing behind her, half-curious, half-suspicious. Brix Vandro showed up looking like he hadn't slept in two days, but was trying really hard to pretend this was normal. Vinya Relan appeared nearly unnoticed, standing quietly near a decorative pillar until Alex waved her over.
Weapon apprentices arrived next—one of them with a literal training sword still strapped across their back, clearly unclear on the concept of 'casual dinner.' A group of martial students filtered in as a unit, dressed impeccably, scanning the place like they were preparing for a diplomatic ambush.
A pair of blacksmithing apprentices followed, smelling faintly of soot and surprisingly nervous.
Then came the scholars.
Two from the diplomacy track, both with too-perfect posture. A history student Alex vaguely recognized from the archives. One from the archaeological track who introduced herself while clutching a half-translated rune tablet.
More came from obscure corners—students from weather crafting, geomancy, illusion stabilization, and even a field-tester from the Beastmastery wing who brought what looked suspiciously like a small enchanted squirrel in their pocket.
And lastly, the elemental department.
Aside from Tavi and Yamato, only three more apprentices made an appearance—each of them unusual in their own right. One wore gloves sealed with enchanted wax, his aura buzzing faintly with storm energy. Another had pale, frost-bitten fingertips and a habit of muttering under her breath in two languages. The last walked in barefoot, leaving faint scorch marks in the cobblestone every few steps, grinning like someone who knew their invitation had been debated.
None of them were from noble houses or royal lineages—but their reputations and affiliations with formidable guilds or independent masters said enough. Elemental apprentices rarely traveled without status, and tonight, even these few tilted the energy of the room.
"Only five from the elemental department," Davor muttered as he came up beside Alex again. "You think that's enough?"
Alex glanced over the crowd, lanterns flickering, murmurs building.
"Five is a start. And they came on their own. That matters more than the number."
Then, with an almost imperceptible nod to the staff, Alex stepped forward toward the center of the courtyard.
The lanterns adjusted, casting a soft spotlight on him as the soft chatter started to quiet down.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Good evening," he said, and his grin settled into something just short of dangerous. "Thank you for coming. For some of you, I know this was a risk. For others, maybe just curiosity. Either way, you're here, and that says more than you realize."
He paused. Looked around. Let it settle.
"Dinner is served. Questions can wait. Eat first—decisions always go better on a full stomach."
And with that, he stepped aside, like he hadn't just claimed the entire night with three sentences.
The first wave of dishes began to float in as if summoned by applause.
It started with gold-crusted fire-roasted duck, drizzled with emberfruit glaze—a delicacy from the southern isles known for its smoky bite and mild afterburn. Then came coldspun airroot salad, dressed with frostvine oil and glacier-pressed salt, served on chilled glass leaf-plates that misted gently in the warm courtyard air.
Steam-baked mountain bread, embedded with sun-dried emberseeds, arrived next, its crust crackling with hints of cinnamon and something that suspiciously resembled powdered firecrystal.
From one side, the unmistakable scent of spices rolled in—butter chicken, rich and fragrant, served with miniature garlic naans that steamed gently against the cool air. Next to it, delicate idli sat atop warm trays beside pots of coconut chutney and sambar, their aroma somehow outpacing every other dish on the table.
A stream of riverfish, poached with whispergrass and wrapped in light-flameleaf parchment, was placed delicately beside sizzling root stacks—thin-sliced vegetables grilled on a gravity-warped plate that rotated heat zones mid-cook.
Just behind the mainline, three small woks still sizzled faintly with paneer tikka, Korean BBQ strips, and tempura vegetables, plated by a team of attendants who moved faster than physics should have allowed.
Dessert carts rolled in discreetly early, ignoring protocol because whoever enchanted them clearly understood priorities. There were stacked frostberry cakes topped with sugar-glazed runes, emberfruit-filled dumplings that burst into gentle heat on the tongue, and a suspended orb of wind-swirled cream frozen in place until bitten.
Near the center, chicken satay skewers stood proudly beside sticky rice wrapped in lotus leaves. Kimchi pancakes, thin and crisp, steamed beside small bowls of miso-glazed eggplant and black sesame noodles tossed in tangy soy-lime glaze. A jasmine tea fountain flowed nearby, its aroma floral and strangely calming.
It was chaos disguised as elegance, a dozen cuisines crashing gently against each other, somehow harmonized by whoever was running the kitchens with the ferocity of a warlord and the artistry of a food poet.
And somehow—somehow—it all made sense in the madness.
Even the students who had arrived guarded or unimpressed couldn't help but take second glances. Then third. Then fill their plates.
Alex wandered toward the nearest tray, picked up what looked like a volcanic spring dumpling, and popped it into his mouth like he hadn't just hosted the most delicately reckless dinner Arcane City had seen in a decade.