The throne room still echoed with the king's ultimatum when we gathered that night. Not in the grand hall. Not in any place the nobles could watch or the guards could easily report. We met in the old solar tower, the highest room in the east wing, a space no one used anymore because the stairs were steep and the wind howled through the arrow slits like a warning. The door was heavy oak, reinforced with iron, and Damon had already checked for listening holes. No one would hear us here. No one would see.
I arrived last. The others had come in ones and twos, slipping through different passages, wearing plain cloaks to hide their royal colors. When I pushed open the door, the room was already full of them. A long table stood in the center, scarred from centuries of forgotten councils. Torches burned in wall brackets, throwing jagged shadows across stone walls. A fire crackled in the hearth, but the warmth barely reached the corners. The air tasted of old woodsmoke and anticipation.
