The seven days flew by in a rush.
While the city draped itself in blue and silver, and the provincial lords arrived in grand carriages and flairs, trying to outdo each other, the air inside the castle grew thin.
Now, the morning of the seventh day arrived.
The Cathedral stood at the heart of the capital, a giant ribs-and-sinew structure of white stone and reinforced lead.
The cathedral was full. The pews were filled with nobles—high and low—wearing velvet, fur, and polished jewelries. To the left sat the provincial lords, their faces etched with the skepticism of men who had seen kings fall and rise. To the right, the Northern delegation sat in stillness, their eyes like chips of flint. Stella was at their head, her posture so rigid it. In the outer galleries, the commoners were packed into the shadows, a thousand eyes peering down from the heights.
