The hall of Eryndor stood in solemn silence as it prepared to witness the beginning of a new reign.
Nothing about the air felt celebratory in the way it once might have. The weight of what had come before still lingered in every corner of the palace where betrayal had once been exposed and a king had fallen.
Nobles filled the grand chamber in arranged rows, their expressions restrained while guards lined the walls in disciplined stillness, no longer divided by allegiance but unified under the promise of a restored crown.
Rowan stood at the base of the raised platform, dressed in royal garments that felt heavier than anything he had remembered wearing. It was not because of fabric or gold but because of what they represented, and as he lifted his gaze across the hall, all he could see was expectation, duty, and silence that pressed against him from all sides.
