The morning sun rose over the Lunaris Empire, but inside the palace, the air was thick with tension. The previous night's whispers still clung to the corridors, carried from servant to servant, soldier to soldier. Rumors spread like wildfire — a shadow seen in the Queen's chambers, a prince seen crying in the garden, a foreign king who stayed longer than expected.
And beneath it all, three names rose again and again: James, Ignareth, and Noah.
Sebastian sat at the long table in the council chamber, his back straight, his hands folded neatly in front of him. James sat at the head, his sharp eyes scanning over documents delivered at dawn. Around them, ministers argued in hushed tones, their voices weaving politics with fear.
"Dravencia's delegation still lingers," one advisor whispered.
"They've overstayed. Surely it's deliberate."
"Do you think they suspect the truth of the consort's death?"
Sebastian tried not to flinch at that. But James noticed. He always noticed.
