It was a detail he had entirely overlooked, one that now, in hindsight, glared at him like a torch in the night.
He cast his thoughts back to the envoy's visit, replaying every word, every glance, every pointed pause between pleasantries. The more he reflected, the more sense it made: the envoy's arrogance, the unrelenting emphasis on "the will of the Southern Princes," spoken as if reciting dogma. There had been no humility nor common appeal, only the expectation of obedience that one had when conversing from a position of strength.
It now appeared less like the unity of six princes and more like the performance of one man attempting to project power over a chorus that might not have even been singing the same song.
