Morning light filtered through the tall arched windows of the Imperial Council Chamber, casting pale bands across the marble floor. The chamber was already full when Princess Isolde entered—councilors seated in their carved chairs, Temple representatives arranged in austere rows, military officials standing with disciplined stillness along the side walls.
The air felt different today.
Not louder. Not sharper. Just… expectant.
Isolde took her seat without ceremony. She did not look around to gauge reactions, though she felt them—brief glances, polite disinterest, faint surprise that she had arrived early rather than drifting in late as she once did when she still wore the mask of indifference.
