The transition from the stuffy, tense palace corridors to the open air of the garden terrace didn't bring the relief Cherion had hoped for. Instead, the moment he, Zarius, and the others stepped out onto the wide stone overlook, they were met with a wall of chaotic sound.
Restless nobles were packed tightly along the balustrades like beautifully dressed, anxious birds, their fans fluttering frantically as their voices rose in a collective tide of high-society panic.
"Look there! They're coming!" a marchioness gasped, pointing a trembling, jeweled finger toward the gravel pathway that cut through the manicured lawns.
In the distance, a line of imperial guards stepped out of the palace forest. They moved in perfect silence, their boots striking the ground in steady rhythm. The moment the crowd realized what the guards were carrying, every conversation died at once.
Between the four guards was a stretcher. A body lay on it, covered from head to toe with a plain white sheet.
