Inside the king's palace, the air felt wrong for a place built by men. Warm. Soft. Like it was trying to welcome him in. Light slid over the stone in steady waves, catching on the carvings, making them seem alive when he looked too long.
Music lingered in the halls. Slow. Careful. The kind that didn't just fill the air but seemed to move with it. For a second, he almost let it carry him. Almost.
Rows of men lined one side. Women the other. They sang as he passed, the sound so tangled he couldn't tell where one voice ended and another began. He didn't know the words. Didn't need to. The sound stayed with him.
It was beautiful. That was the problem. Beauty like this didn't happen by accident. It was made. Polished. Put in place to make you stop thinking about what lay underneath.
He kept his pace steady. Eyes forward. Let the sound chase him if it wanted.
