Several days after, at the Imperial Palace, the cold that clung to Solania was replaced by a different sort of chill, the lacquered, perfumed stillness of power at rest. The long hall that housed the throne drank sound in a way only expensive rooms can: carpets muffled footfall, tapestries ate whisper, and the soft wash of braziers along the walls seemed as measured as a courtier's bow. Scented smoke drifted in pale banners under a ceiling painted with old victories. Between the columns, courtiers and advisors held themselves half-bent in the permanent ache of ceremonial respect, hands pressed together, eyes lowered, lips already forming the next gracious phrase.
After all, today was the day that the Emperor of the whole of the Empire of Lufondal has gathered the most relevant people to the situation that happened back in one of his ruled kingdoms, the Kingdom of Tulmud.
