The limestone spires of the Cathedral of St. Valeria pierced the gray mountain mist, standing in regal defiance of the cold northern wind.
Carved centuries ago from abyssal granite and pale river stone, the colossal sanctum boasted arched buttresses that resembled folded dragon wings.
Today, the sanctuary's quiet reverence was drowned beneath the rumble of carriages and the suffocating perfume of high aristocracy.
A minor baronial wedding was supposed to be a quiet regional affair. But King Eric Valdris's royal decree had turned Laurence Bale's elevation into an epicenter of kingdom-wide consequence, and the nobility had descended like hawks circling fresh prey.
To the western flank of the courtyard, Duke Asher's faction had already staked out their ground. Earl Mortaine stood near the central fountain, his slate-gray eyes cool as he spoke in low tones with Earl Vex and Viscount Horn.
