CHAPTER 91
The council chamber smelled faintly of old parchment and wax. The long table stretched before the elders, each man and woman seated with tightened lips, avoiding one another's eyes. The absence of Commander Robert, once a familiar voice among them, left an emptiness no one dared mention outright.
Grace sat at the head of the chamber, the golden seal of Alagascar behind her. She scanned the faces, her fingers pressed together under her chin. The council had grown quieter in recent days, their hesitation thicker than words.
Elder Mikal cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the heavy silence. "Your Majesty, forgive me for speaking plainly, but the people are restless. They whisper of the Northern prisoners, of betrayal, and of Commander Robert's end." His voice carried the weight of risk.
Grace's eyes narrowed. "Do the people not trust their King?"
The question struck the chamber like iron against stone. A few shifted in their seats, others lowered their gaze.
