(Romulus POV)
The Constantine envoy arrived at midmorning.
They chose the hour deliberately.
Not dawn, which would signal urgency.
Not dusk, which would signal secrecy.
Midmorning—measured, composed, visible.
The court was assembled when the envoy entered. Golden sunlight poured through the high arches of the audience hall, illuminating polished marble floors and casting long shadows beneath the pillars carved in the likeness of the Sun Emperor.
I sat upon the Sun Throne.
Still.
Unyielding.
The envoy bowed deeply, cloak bearing the indigo crest of Constantine stitched with silver thread. He did not tremble. That meant he had been well briefed.
"His Imperial Majesty of Constantine sends greetings," he announced, voice echoing lightly through the chamber. "And accepts the gracious terms proposed by Alessandria regarding the visit of Her Highness Princess Almera."
Princess.
Not Imperial Consort.
I did not react.
