Alistair felt the shift long before anyone else did.
The pressure in the room changed, subtle as a breath, deep as the ocean. It rolled through the reception hall like a tide, pressing against every surface, every soul. The guards stiffened. The nobles faltered mid-conversation. Even the servants, trained to be invisible, stopped in their tracks.
Lysander appeared at his side, his expression calm. "He's here."
"I know." Alistair's voice was even. "Took him long enough."
The doors swung open.
A man walked through them. Tall, broad-shouldered, his stride unhurried. He wore simple clothes, dark wool and leather, unadorned by the jewels and gold that marked the other nobles. But his presence filled the room like a storm front, and the air grew thick with the weight of his power.
His eyes were blue.
