The banquet hall shimmered with the ostentatious glow of wealth and power. Golden chandeliers, encrusted with diamonds, cast fractured light across the polished marble floors, where the elite of the kingdom mingled. The clink of crystal glasses punctuated the low hum of political intrigue, whispered deals, and veiled threats. Charles Arman had attended countless events in recent weeks—boardroom battles with investors, clandestine negotiations with foreign merchants, and tense standoffs with men who once dismissed him as a nobody from the slums. But tonight was different. Tonight, the air carried a weight that pressed against his chest, as if the room itself knew something he didn't.
Tonight, he wasn't meeting businessmen. He was meeting royalty.
