The towering doors of the High Council Chamber swung open with a resounding boom that reverberated through the vaulted limestone hall.
Seventy high peers of the realm, ministerial chancellors, and gilded cathedral prelates turned in unison from their tiered velvet benches, their gaze fixing upon the entering company.
Captain Seret led the procession with deliberate strides, his steel greaves clanking sharply against the polished marble floor.
Behind him marched Lieutenant Helen, her posture rigid and her chin held high beneath the banners of the northern vanguard.
Hajin walked calmly between the two officers, his shattered right arm held securely in its linen sling while his eyes surveyed the amphitheater of imperial power.
Upon the elevated Obsidian Dais at the far end of the cavernous chamber, King Atheron sat upon the ancestral lion throne, his weathered face carved into a mask of regal detachment.
