The court was unusually tense that morning.
Ministers shuffled into position more quietly than usual, their silken sleeves brushing low as they bowed to the throne. The whisper of fabric was the loudest sound in the room, save for the steady strike of the morning bell. Gone were the smug glances and murmured wagers. Gone was the heavy perfume of competition.
Only unease lingered now—bitter and clinging, like smoke after fire.
The Emperor sat at the head of the hall, his expression unreadable behind a curtain of stillness. He hadn't yet spoken, and that silence weighed heavier than thunder. His hand rested on the arm of his dragon-carved chair, fingers tapping slowly—once, twice, then pausing, as if weighing the beat against something only he could hear.
