The king's solar was quiet that evening, lit only by the wavering glow of tall candelabras and the fire in the stone hearth. The chamber was heavy with velvet draperies, deep crimson and gold, and carved beams that bore the weight of centuries. Tapestries of past kings looked down in silent judgment, their woven eyes reflecting glimmers of flame as though they, too, listened.
Princess Elara entered in a gown of silken scarlet, her skirts trailing like a river of blood across the polished floor. The jeweled clasps at her shoulders caught the light, but it was her eyes violet and sharp as amethysts that burned brighter than any stone. She moved with the proud bearing of her house, yet tonight, her steps faltered.
