The dining hall of the Solar Palace was a theater of unspoken threats. Long, flickering shadows danced across the walls, cast by the massive gold candelabras that lined the obsidian table. On one side sat the Northern delegation, draped in their silver furs, looking like a row of frozen statues. On the other hand, the Western generals, their hands never far from the hilts of their swords.
At the head of the table sat Kassian, his presence a heavy, suffocating heat that made the fine wine in the crystal glasses tremble. To his right was Arkon von Hiver, the Emperor of the North, whose very breath seemed to turn the steam from the roasted meats into a fine, glittering mist.
And trapped between them, like a bird between two colliding storms, was Vera.
