[Silthara Palace—Emperor's Chamber—The Next Morning]
Silthara woke before the sun, not with bells, not with horns—but with whispers.
The palace vibrated with them, slipping through corridors, leaping from servant to guard, from guard to noble, until even the stone seemed to hum with delight.
"They say the Malik knelt—knelt—before the Malika."
"I heard it with my own ears. The Golden Rose was in his hands, and the whole arena was silent."
"No, no—you don't understand, he smiled. The Malik smiled."
Gasps followed those words every time, as if they carried holy weight. In the outer corridors, attendants clustered closer than protocol allowed, braiding each other's hair with trembling fingers, eyes bright.
"Did you see how he looked at Malika? Like the world had ended and begun again."
"My cousin was at Sunfire Field—she swore the sun itself shone brighter when he kissed Malika's hand."
"They say the Malika blushed."
"That's impossible—"
"That's what makes it perfect."
