And yet another week had passed.
The sovereign summit was just twenty-four hours away, looming over Florian's head like a storm cloud thick with thunder and judgment. The palace halls buzzed with subtle energy—servants whispering, guards sharpening blades, banners being unfurled in distant wings—but for Florian, things had been… strangely quiet.
But not in a good way.
The silence wasn't peaceful. It was hollow. A quiet that pressed against his chest and made it hard to breathe sometimes, like walking through a fog where you couldn't see your own hands.
Ever since Heinz's public announcement, Lucius had been keeping his distance. No, scratch that. He'd been icing him out.
