Adele a palace moved quickly through the servant's corridor, clutching a folded linen sheet to her chest as an excuse to be moving. She wasn't supposed to be near the council wing, but she couldn't help it her ears burned with curiosity. Word had reached the lower quarters that something had happened to the King.
But no one in power had confirmed it.
And that silence was more terrifying than truth.
She paused just beyond the arched doorway, listening. Inside the chamber, voices rose in hushed argument.
"…we've waited long enough!" a man barked one of the Ministers, likely High Chancellor Bartholomew. "If the King were alive, we'd have seen him. But it's been ten days, we can't keep this up."
"He could be ill," another countered, less certain. "Recovering privately. The Queen hasn't made a statement."
"The Queen is either grieving or playing dumb," Bartholomew snapped. "Either way, this stasis is killing us. The kingdom needs a king. And we—we—need to know who holds the seal."
