The heavy oak doors of the council chamber groaned on their hinges, swinging wide to reveal the circular expanse of the room. High above, ice chandeliers shimmered with a pale, cold light, casting long shadows across the U-shaped council table.
"Emperor Soren Nivarre and Empress Eris Nivarre!" the herald's voice boomed.
Every soul in the room rose as one. There was a frantic, collective rustle of silk and wool as the lords and ladies of the council bowed and curtsied. But as they bent their heads, their eyes remained fixed on the two figures entering the room.
Soren moved with a casual, predatory grace, his hand resting firmly on the small of Eris's back. He looked satisfied, his expression that of a man who had finally claimed exactly what he wanted. Beside him, Eris walked with her head high, her expression a mask of imperial frost, yet she was moving with a rigid, gingerly caution.
The whispers were like the hiss of a snake. "Look at her neck…" "Three days…" "Can barely walk…"
