The throne was too hard.
Kaelen sat straight. His spine pressed against cold iron. The armrests were carved into wolf heads. Their eyes were rubies.
The hall stretched before him, Long and narrow, Torches burned in iron rings along the pillars, Smoke gathered near the ceiling, It moved like water, Slow, Thick. The smell of old fires and older stone filled his lungs.
Men and women stood in rows, Advisors, Generals, Merchants in wool coats and silver chains, Each one watched him, Waited.
Kaelen had never run a kingdom, he had never ran anything, he was used to riding behind and getting told what to do, it was more comfortable that way.
The man at the front of the room cleared his throat. Lord Harwen, gray beard, fat fingers. A velvet cap that sat crooked on his head. His voice was a weapon.
"Your majesty, the harvest is in."
Kaelen said nothing the percentage remained so he was not out of character.
