The grand chamber of the House of Lords was filled with rows of wooden benches, where the most powerful men in England sat.
The benches were completely full today.
Dukes, marquesses, earls, viscounts and barons sat shoulder to shoulder. The air in the massive room was incredibly heavy. No one was smiling. No one was whispering casual gossip. They were gathered for the most serious matter a nobleman could face: a trial of their own peers.
Sitting in the front row, his posture perfectly straight, was Rowan, the Duke of Ford. Beside him sat Carcel, the Duke of Carleton. They wore dark, formal morning coats. Rowan's eyes were fixed coldly on the center of the room. He had laid everything down, and now he was watching it unfold.
At the very front of the room sat the High Chancellor. He wore a long black robe and a curled white wig, the traditional dress of the highest judge in the land. He held a wooden gavel in his hand.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
