[The Ballroom—Lavinia's POV — Imperial Palace]
The ballroom held its breath.
Crystal chandeliers burned like captured stars above us, their light spilling over silk, steel, and carefully schooled faces. I stood beside Haldor—his presence solid, warm, and real—while Papa remained utterly still before the throne.
Too still.
The nobles kept glancing at him. At Ravick. At one another. Whispers threatened the edges of the room but never dared cross into sound.
Ravick stepped forward at last, voice steady. "Your Majesty… it is time for the announcement."
Grandpa Thalein leaned toward me from where he stood, muttering under his breath like a curse disguised as a prayer. "Don't do it… don't do it, Cassius."
Papa didn't move. I turned my head slightly, smiling up at him—soft, coaxing, dangerous. "Papa…"
He looked at me.
And sighed.
A long, deeply offended sigh, as though the universe itself had personally betrayed him.
