The candles of the dinner party burned slowly toward their end. It had been a long night. Thirty-two puddings served, Karl's stern expression gradually shifting to "well, not bad," the Earl's faction nobles exchanging glances while clearing their throats repeatedly—that sort of night. Elena kept track of the used plates in the margins of her ledger while monitoring the atmosphere of the hall from the corner of her vision. (Pudding consumption: thirty-two. Soup remaining: nearly zero. Caramel browning on all units: ninety-five points or higher. Tomorrow's prep—need to secure at least forty eggs to make it in time...) With her pen moving across the ledger, Elena was already constructing tomorrow's procurement list. It was that point in the evening, near the end of the dinner party. Count Dort von Elsberck rose to his feet. The conservative faction's leading figure at the Jade Round Table—adjusting his white wig, pulling at his lace sleeves, turning his gaze slowly toward the King at