The night was finally silent, with only a few faint flickers of torchlights breaking the stillness as the council convened in the palace's meeting room.
The atmosphere was grim, weighed down by a somber and oppressive quiet. The council members' faces were weary and drawn, etched with the remnants of fatigue. There had been no time for rest or healing after the war, and the toll it had taken on them was evident in every strained expression.
No one dared to speak yet, the king's absence only adding to their growing unease.
At last, the heavy doors to the meeting room swung open with a resounding creak. Rhaegar strode in, his normally unkempt curls pulled back into a loose high ponytail, secured with a black silk ribbon embroidered with gold.
