Morning came without ceremony. A servant knocked once, told them the King was ready, and left before anyone had a chance to ask anything else.
The throne room wasn't what Arthur expected. No gold, no excess. Just the same pale stone as everything else in the kingdom, tall windows letting in the filtered white light from the canopy above, and at the far end, a throne carved directly out of a living root that had grown up through the floor and been shaped rather than built.
The King sat in it. Older than any elf Arthur had seen so far, silver green hair , his face lined in a way that suggested elves did age, just slower and differently than humans. His eyes carried the same slow, deliberate weight as everything else about this place.
Yveselune stood near the base of the throne, off to one side, the same black-stitched coat from yesterday.
Solenne stepped forward first, the pole with its ten crests left outside per Yveselune's instruction, only the blue relic in her hand now.
