The bell still rang.
But now it was the signal that the foreign dignitaries—those who had been confined to the guest wings since the night of the welcoming ball—were now being summoned to the Great Hall to pay their respects.
The fragile peace of the room had broken.
Alex stood by the window, his hand white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword. He wasn't looking at the gates anymore. He was looking at the reflection of the room in the glass, his eyes tracking Kyle's every movement.
"The King of Mares and the king of Obliee and the envoys from the South." Alex murmured, more to himself than to Kyle.
"They've been waiting for this moment. They've been trapped in our guest suites for weeks, whispering about the vessel and the 'weakness' of the crown. Now they get to see the transition for themselves."
Kyle smoothed the front of his deep emerald vest. The velvet felt heavy, like a suit of armor. "And they're going to see me standing next to you."
