The court hall rose in glittering height, banners flowing down from the carved rafters, the emblems of Katarthan glowing in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the stained windows.
The tea party in the gardens had ended only hours before, but now the stage was heavier, more unforgiving. Nobles filled the long benches.
Their robes swept the floor like waves of silk. Their eyes, sharper than any blade, followed every step Metheea took as she entered.
At the center, upon the raised dais, Chancellor Marlick stood tall in his dark robes. His voice carried across the great chamber, calm, steady, yet edged with iron.
"The court is gathered," he said. "The Emperor is absent by will, for his health declines, yet his will endures. Prince Azrayel is to rise as Regent of Katarthan. Yet tradition demands that such a rise be proclaimed before the court and the people."
The nobles murmured, some folding their hands, some leaning forward. Marlick's voice cut through again.
