The snow in the lower districts of the capital had begun to turn to a drizzle.
Inside the palace, the morning moved with the same energy.
Elias did not wake to the chill of an empty bed anymore; he woke to the scratch of a pen and the scent of freshly brewed tea. There was no room for brooding in a schedule designed to sustain a kingdom at war.
Elias moved through the room with grace. He signed three trade decrees before his first meal, his signature sharp and unwavering. There was no second-guessing, no hovering over the ink. He had found a rhythm that bypassed the heart and went straight to the logistics of survival.
The diadem sat comfortably on his brow, no longer a foreign weight.
The morning Council session was an adaptation to the new order.
When Elias entered the chamber, the room didn't fall silent; it snapped to attention.
