Just as the Prince settled onto the stepped seat, the Court's massive doors opened once again.
Ajab had been the last to enter the court—so who else remained?
The atmosphere shifted the moment the figure glided in, and everyone felt it. His black robe danced alongside his trailing hair as he strode forward, steps firm, each one sending a seamless ripple through the hall. Amid the sea of white-robed roses, he stood out like a black sheep.
Every gaze fell upon him. This living symbol of death, standing unannounced among the living.
Reaching the throne steps, he halted and lifted his gaze to meet the King's—eyes still heavy with indifference. The moment lingered briefly before he bowed deeply.
It was a soundless bow—no words spoken, yet his presence spoke enough. He turned and offered the Queen the same bow, which she returned with a slight nod and a mild smile.
