Lechlian remained on all fours long after his lips left Alpheo's ring, his breath rattling through clenched teeth as the cold stone beneath him seemed to drink the last of his dignity. Sweat glistened on his brow, not from heat or effort, but from the searing shame that radiated from every corner of the room.
The nobles looked on, their expressions frozen in horror. Some stared at their prince as if they no longer recognized him. Others, lips pressed thin, tried not to look at all.
To see a sovereign prostrate himself, not in ritual or ceremony, but in true, desperate submission, struck something primal in all of them.
As any ounce of respect they could have had for their liege opened the door and made itself out.
