Walking into the Imperial Throne Room felt entirely different when you were armed.
With every step Kaia took, the heavy, dark grey wool of her skirts brushed against the leather sheath strapped to her right thigh. The Valdamar steel stiletto rested flat against her skin, a cold, hidden promise of violence. It changed the way she walked. It changed the way she held her spine.
She wasn't a piece on the board anymore. She had teeth.
Aeron walked half a step behind her right shoulder. He had shed his white gloves, choosing to enter the Throne Room bare-handed—a visual warning to the entire court that the Commander, not the Saint, was present. His presence was a solid, radiating wall of heat at her back.
The heavy double doors swung open, and they stepped into the cavernous hall.
