The High Cathedral had been rebuilt quickly. Some parts still needed fixing but it was almost complete.
Before the first light of dawn could pierce the horizon, the pews were filled.
There was no celebratory music, like there was for Cassian. For Cassian, they had expected him to to become king after his father, even if it wasn't the right way but they had expected it.
A low, rhythmic choral hummed from the choir loft. It was the sound of the old royal family, intended to remind every soul present that the throne was not just a chair, but the heart that kept the world from collapsing.
The guests were escorted in under heavy guard. There were no leisurely strolls down the nave tonight. The lords and ladies of the realm, faces gaunt with exhaustion and eyes red-rimmed from the tension of the ball, were marched to their pews like prisoners of state.
