The Arindale court woke the next morning to discover that the political landscape had been entirely, violently rearranged while they slept.
The news of Baron Ryland Thorne's sudden "retirement to a monastery for spiritual reflection" and the immediate elevation of Captain Silas Thorne to the High Council swept through the breakfast pavilion like a wildfire.
"A guardsman," Dowager Duchess Vane whispered to her teacup, looking pale. "Sitting on the High Council. It shatters centuries of precedent."
"He isn't just a guardsman anymore, Your Grace," Kaia noted smoothly from the head of the table, sipping her black coffee. "He is Lord Thorne. And given that he single-handedly thwarted a treasonous plot last night, I suggest the Council welcome him with open arms. And perhaps a fruit basket."
Beside her, Prince Beckett was practically vibrating with suppressed joy.
