(Arthur POV)
Snow makes everything look clean.
That is the lie of it.
From the council balcony this morning, the capital appeared untouched. White roofs. Silver trees. Marble courtyards dusted in frost.
But I have ruled long enough in my father's shadow to know that snow only hides cracks. It does not mend them.
The review chamber for the winter wedding preparations is warmer than the corridor outside, but not warm enough. Or perhaps that is only how it feels to me.
Rosaline stands at the head of the long oak table.
Not seated.
Never seated.
She prefers to stand when presenting.
Strength is easier to sell when upright.
"Guest seating has been revised according to southern transit delays," she says clearly. "Duke Halvern will be positioned three seats closer to the imperial family to soften his earlier objection regarding tariffs."
Her voice is steady.
Measured.
Composed.
But I see it.
The pause before she answers Councilor Marek's question.
