The Emperor only made his appearance when two of the six vapor lamps on the left wall had already burned out, and not a single servant dared to step forward and replace them.
The shadows stretching across the floor grew longer by the minute. Anastasia had been standing in the dead center of the dark carpet for hours, locked in the exact same spot as that morning, the metal box securely stowed in her inner pocket, her legs growing numb. Behind her, Roland couldn't stop shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Riven, standing beside him, hadn't moved a single muscle. Irina stood to the right of the throne in her immaculate, crease-free gray uniform, Volkov to the left with his measuring rod, and Adrian waited at the foot of the stairs, glaring at the floor with a clenched jaw.
The air inside the hall reeked of lamp oil and rust, and there wasn't a single window designed to be opened. They waited for four agonizing hours.
