The throne room was carved from shadows and light—gilded pillars rising like the ribs of some ancient beast, chandeliers swaying under the weight of crystal teardrops. The great banners of the realm hung like silent sentinels above, their embroidered gold catching in the flicker of torchlight. The floor itself was a mirror-polished mosaic, depicting the crown's conquest over centuries—a history written not in ink, but in blood.
Every noble in attendance stood in perfect stillness, the air thick with unsaid words. Their silence wasn't reverence; it was the taut stillness of predators sizing up prey. The rustle of silk sleeves, the faint creak of gilded armor, the clink of a distant goblet—each sound struck like a needle against the brittle quiet.
And there, in the middle of it all, stood Kai.
