The grand court of the imperial palace was bathed in an eerie silence, one that hummed with the undercurrent of unease.
Rows upon rows of nobles sat in their finely embroidered robes, stiff and alert, the brilliant light of the chandeliers above reflecting off the golden thread of their garments.
Emperor Arcelius sat on the elevated throne, his figure casting an imposing shadow over the court.
To his right, the crown prince, Izan, sat quietly, his posture rigid and expression unreadable. On the other side, ministers and high-ranking officials filled the space, their seats arranged in a perfect crescent, like vultures waiting for something to devour.
Elian stood near the center of the room, feeling small and out of place among the grandeur.
He shifted on his feet, the weight of countless eyes pressing down on him.
Every gaze was sharp, some hostile, others curious, but all judging.
