The evening sun cast amber streaks across the polished marble floors of the Ivanova throne room, glinting off the gilded carvings of lions and griffins that flanked the walls.
The heavy velvet drapes remained drawn to block the fading light, and the torches along the walls flickered, throwing dancing shadows across the assembled nobles.
The room was silent, save for the careful footfalls of the attendants and the steady cadence of the guards standing at rigid attention around the dais.
At the center of the hall, elevated above the rest, sat King Ivan on his high chair.
His dark hair glinted under the torchlight, and his gray eyes swept over the chamber with calm authority.
To his right, Queen Augusta sat with an imperceptible tilt of her head, blue eyes sharp, observing every whisper, every movement, her hands folded in perfect composure.
The nobles were arranged according to rank, their own chairs forming a semicircle around the dais.
