The crown hall glowed with warm torchlight, its tall stained-glass windows casting colored shadows upon the marble floors. The ceremony had long passed its peak, yet the nobles lingered, their goblets full, their whispers mingling with the drifting smoke of incense. Musicians played softly in a corner, though their notes seemed almost drowned by the laughter of the king.
Upon the dais sat King Aldred, robes loosened, crown tilted slightly askew. The weight of age and wine had softened his features, his once-commanding presence reduced to a jovial shadow. His hand clutched a golden goblet, and his speech grew louder with every sip.
"Daughter," the king slurred, beckoning Princess Elara closer. His eyes, bloodshot yet brimming with a strange warmth, fixed upon her. "Tell me… are you happy? Does your heart rest easy, knowing the kingdom's fate lies in your hands?"
