The Great Hall of the Emberclaw Palace was a cavern of gold and echo, its high vaulted ceilings designed to make even the most powerful men feel small.
Today, the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and the sharp, acidic tang of noble anxiety. The long mahogany table was crowded with the Empire's most influential minds, their voices clashing like steel in a forge.
Duke Hektor Arcanis, the Minister of War, slammed a heavy fist onto the table. "We are discussing a sovereign power taking root within our borders without a single word of fealty!" Hektor roared.
"The Obsidian Keep is within the Emberclaw jurisdiction," he continued. "Whether she calls herself Regina or a goddess, she is an squatter on Imperial land. I propose an immediate blockade of the Whispering Woods."
Countess Isabella Thorne , the Mistress of Trade and Coin, let out a dry, melodic laugh. "And how, Duke, do you propose to blockade a forest that swallows light? My merchant caravans are already refusing the northern routes."
"The market is in a panic," she added. "The mere mention of 'Regina' has caused the price of silver to plummet. We don't need a war; we need a ledger that makes sense."
High Priest Valerius, representing the Ministry of Faith, rose from his seat. "This is not a matter of coin or borders. The awakening of the Keep is a spiritual blight. The Church demands an Inquisition."
Marquis Julian Vane, the Minister of Intelligence, tapped an ink-stained finger against his chin. "My spies cannot even reach the gates. The ravens kill any bird we send into that airspace."
"She is not just a woman with a castle," Vane continued. "She is a magnet. The disenfranchised, the shadow-born, and the old Valtorien loyalists are all looking toward the North."
Draven sat in the center of the storm, his hands folded beneath the table. Beside him, Darius and Elarion remained silent, watching the vultures pick at the carcass of Imperial security.
The debate raged for hours. Names were called, threats were leveled, and the fear of the unknown began to turn the noble council into a panicked mob.
Finally, a heavy, rhythmic thud silenced the room. King Maltherion Emberclaw had struck the floor with his dragon-headed cane.
The King was a man of advancing years, but his eyes remained as sharp as the day he had claimed the throne. He had watched the bickering with a look of profound weariness.
"Enough," Maltherion said. The nobles sank back into their chairs, the air suddenly still. The King stood, his shadow stretching long across the marble floor.
"You speak of blockades and purges as if we are dealing with a common rebel," the King began. "But you forget your history. The Shadows do not bleed, and they do not starve."
"If this Regina has truly awakened the Keep, then the balance of this continent has changed irrevocably. We cannot make her an enemy," Maltherion concluded.
"To strike at her now is to invite the destruction of this house. We must form an alliance. We will send an embassy. We will offer her a seat at the table."
Draven felt the air leave his lungs. An alliance meant an invitation. An invitation meant seeing Regina—seeing Iris—face to face.
"Dismissed," the King commanded. As the nobles filed out, Maltherion turned to Draven. "You will be the one to lead the embassy, my son. Since you are so fond of diplomatic arrangements."