Morning light filtered through the tall stained-glass windows of the Inner Sanctum, breaking across the stone floor in bands of pale gold and crimson.
The chamber smelled faintly of incense and old parchment.
Archon Cassimir Vale sat at the long marble table positioned beneath the highest window, his hands folded neatly before him. Around him stood several senior clerics of the Temple—men who had spent decades studying doctrine and shaping the moral voice of the empire.
None of them spoke at first.
They were waiting.
Cassimir allowed the silence to stretch. Silence was a tool he wielded well. It made people lean forward, made them wonder what thought had already formed behind his calm eyes.
Finally, one of the elder clerics cleared his throat.
"The capital celebrates today," he said quietly.
Cassimir inclined his head slightly.
"Yes."
"Princess Isolde's marriage appears… well received."
Cassimir's gaze drifted toward the colored light staining the stone floor.
