[Lavinia's POV — Council Chamber—Later]
The sound of the doors closing behind me was like a verdict.
Every conversation inside the council chamber stopped. Dozens of heads turned—generals in polished armor, nobles draped in silks, ministers with scrolls clutched in nervous hands.
The air was heavy with tension and the sharp, metallic tang of ink and steel. The scent of war.
Papa stood at the far end of the table, his posture relaxed—but his gaze sharp enough to cut marble. Ravick stood behind him, silent as a blade sheathed in shadow.
"Your Highness," General Arwin, the Commander of the Imperial Forces, bowed stiffly. His salt-and-iron voice filled the chamber. "We were awaiting your presence before beginning."
I stepped forward, my pace measured. Every sound—the whisper of silk, the sharp rhythm of my heels—fell into the silence like punctuation in a sentence no one dared to interrupt.
