The following morning, as Palermo began to stir to life, the first rays of the sun peeked through the small, weathered window of the tavern. The sunlight, filtered through the dusty glass, carried a hint of warmth, gently painting a golden hue across the room. The sparse beams of morning light illuminated the tattered tapestries that adorned the tavern's walls, revealing the aged and worn patterns, reminiscent of the kingdom's long history.
Amid the modest surroundings, King Conradin lay sprawled on a simple straw mattress, his regal attire replaced by the worn common clothes he had donned for their night of revelry. His usually regal countenance bore the relaxed, contented expression of a man who had, for a time, escaped the weighty responsibilities of the crown. The king's dark hair, tousled from a night of boisterous celebration, spilled over his forehead.
