"Their Majesties, King Midas and Queen Hermione, arrive!" The herald's thunderous cry rolled across the banquet hall like a command.
Prime Minister Musni who was about to confront Netser was silenced. At once, he and Netser, along with the assembled courtiers split apart, retreating toward the side to clear a path. Silks rustled. Boots scraped. No one dared breathe too loudly as the rulers of Westalis made their entrance.
Lara watched them advance—an impeccably choreographed procession of absolute power. Queen Hermione glided with the severe grace of a swan, but it was the king who drew every eye in the hall. Midas walked as though the stones themselves bent beneath his heels, his cloak trailing behind him like a dark omen. The light of the chandeliers struck the gold in his crown and robes, but his presence outshone the metal; it was the oppressive aura of a man accustomed to obedience, fear, and swift punishment.
