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"Gentlemen."
In the Ballard Chamber, King Kessel's voice came steady, thick and solemn, decisive as a cutting blade.
Just as he had been every time he made a decision during the council meetings in the past.
It seemed that the conclusion was already determined.
With this thought in mind, the ministers reined in their emotions, adjusted their postures, some relaxing slightly, prepared for yet another council meeting to come to an end.
But not this time.
Under everyone's gaze, the Iron-fisted King raised his head, his gaze sweeping across the council.
"Your words are reasonable."
As he spoke, the king's right hand emerged abruptly from the shadows of the throne, turned gently toward the gathered men, palm up, hovering over the council table.
Just like a cold blade unsheathed.
Even the warm sun of autumn could not diminish its chill.
Gilbert, Coulon, Quero, Sodo... all the ministers were stunned, puzzled.
