Whispers After the Crown
The doors to the Royal Court had hardly closed when the room started to change. King Aurelian's footsteps grew distant, yet the press of his edict lingered in the great hall like a suspended breath.
Silence was not for long. One after another, the nobles came to life—like chess pieces stirring back into action after a master move. Lords leaned in, their whispers; ladies fiddled with veils with jerking fingers, eyes blazing with calculation. Tension, once crushed beneath kingly orders, now billowed like smoke in the air.
A few nobles slipped quietly away, cloaks sweeping against the gleaming marble as they left with pursed lips and hasty steps. Their silence, weighted and deliberate, was louder than any public vow could have been—far louder, in fact. Others gravitated in small groups by the pillars and alcoves, heads ducked low as they exchanged vows and prophecies. The chamber resounded with the buzz of strategy, low and charged.
