The grand ballroom, which only hours prior had been a glittering sea of gold leaf, fine silk, and noble laughter, now resembled a battlefield frozen in time. The remnants of the abrupt chaos were scattered everywhere.
Yerel stood near the center of the floor, his boots treading silently over a stain of spilled drink. He had been wandering aimlessly from corner to corner for what felt like hours, his thoughts in complete disarray and his nerves stretched to their limit.
Near the grand arched entrance of the ballroom, his father was visibly dizzy with anxiety and rage. The sovereign repeatedly rubbed his temples, his complexion an ashen gray as he muttered a stream of frantic, repetitive complaints to his high-ranking ministers.
