The great meeting hall of the palace was decorated with gold and deep red banners as the morning light filtered through stained glass windows. Lords and dukes sat in their appointed seats, their jewel-toned robes rustling, and the murmur of conversation was like a low hum.
When the tall doors swung open, all murmurs ceased.
Leander entered, his presence as commanding as a storm. Cloaked in black lined with silver, the crown upon his head glinted in the morning light. At once, every noble in the room rose to their feet, voices joining in a chorus of formal greeting.
“Your Majesty.”
He inclined his head slightly—the smallest acknowledgment—before taking his seat at the head of the long table. Only when he settled did the others follow suit, and the meeting commenced.
Lord Tavien, a port
