The final wedding preparations had begun, turning the Tughril palace into a storm of noise and color. Servants and soldiers rushed through the halls, moving quickly to finish their tasks. Bright red banners hung from the ceilings and golden lights sparkled everywhere, making the palace look like a happy place. However, beneath the celebration, a dark plan was hiding, and the air felt heavy with the threat of the coming coup.
The Dowager sat in her private room as her maids pinned a heavy gold ornament into her hair. A sharp knock interrupted her. Then, a messenger entered with a pale and sweating face.
"Speak," the Dowager commanded, her eyes still fixed on the bronze mirror.
"Your Highness... news from the palace guards barracks. Commander Arkan has collapsed. The palace doctors say he is burning with a strange fever. His breath is shallow, and they... they fear he will not survive the hour."
