A few hours later.
The palace gates opened without delay.
Word had reached them before our carriage even came to a stop. Servants moved with practiced urgency, guards straightened, and we were ushered through marble corridors that smelled faintly of incense and old power. I had been here before—many years ago, under very different circumstances—but the great hall still stole breath from the unprepared.
High arched ceilings etched with gold runes. Pillars wide enough to house ballrooms within them. Sunlight filtered through stained glass that painted the floor in fractured colors of saints, beasts, and forgotten kings.
Yet despite the grandeur, the air felt heavy.
Waiting.
King Vael rose the moment we entered. Queen Luna followed, concern written plainly across her face. They did not waste time with ceremony.
"Come," the king said. "The parlor."
