The air inside the Emperor's private study was calm, quiet and detached from the grandeur of the ceremony that had ended an hour ago.
The towering windows behind him let in the pale glow of sunlight, its golden sheen falling across the bookshelves, the polished desk, and the faint steam rising from the tea cups set before us.
Lucien sat opposite me in a white shirt and black trousers, simple clothes that stripped away the regality he carried so effortlessly in public.
Without the crown, without the robe, he seemed less like the ruler of the empire and more like a sharp-eyed man.
Hazel, by contrast, sat beside me, her posture relaxed. She had not bothered changing out of her training clothes, the faint smell of sweat still clinging to her as if to remind everyone that she wasn't interested in anything else other than the war that was coming.
