The throne room was never truly silent.
Even when no one spoke, it carried the weight of footsteps long gone—generations of power pressed into stone, polished marble, and towering stained-glass windows that turned daylight into fractured color.
Today, however, the silence felt different.
It felt… watched.
Sebastian stood near the base of the throne, one hand resting loosely at his side, the other still carrying the faint memory of Aliena's grip from earlier. He had not released the tension in his body since leaving her side. He simply redirected it.
Controlled it.
Contained it.
Beside him, Aliena stood slightly behind his shoulder—not hidden, not protected in a way that diminished her presence, but placed there like something precious he refused to let the world misinterpret.
Miles stood off to the side, posture rigid, eyes scanning the hall in alert silence.
The court had gathered quickly.
Too quickly.
