(Rosaline POV)
The imperial council chamber had always been imposing—but that morning, it felt polite.
That was the problem.
Sunlight streamed through tall stained-glass windows depicting the founding of the Draconian Empire, scattering fractured colors across the polished marble floor. Councilors stood in neat clusters, robes immaculate, faces composed into courteous masks. The air smelled faintly of incense and wine.
Too orderly. Too prepared.
I knew this chamber. I had sat within its walls often enough now to recognize its rhythms—the subtle rivalries, the quiet power struggles, the way silence could stretch like a blade before a debate erupted.
Today, there was none of that.
Every councilor bowed in perfect synchrony as Arthur entered.
The Light Bearer.
The Crown Prince.
The man beside whom I now stood.
