The councilmen were lined shoulder-to-shoulder, every face pale, their clothings disheveled. Their once-pristine garments were shredded from their skirmish with the rogue vampires. Some still carried the scent of burned flesh clinging to their sleeves. Their gazes rarely rose to meet Gabriel's as he was marched past them. Instead, they stared fixedly at the floor tiles as if reverence to stone could save them from wrath.
Lucivar, by contrast, sat at ease on the smaller throne to the right, the throne of an advisor. Being a former king had its perks—namely, he had not been forced into the melee. He did not have to soil his robes. He had watched from a safe vantage point, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, while councilmen scrambled to survive the monsters their 'hope for the future' had crreated.
