The hall of the palace was lit in golden hues, chandeliers glowing, filled to the brim with nobles, lords, and dukes, each adorned in their most elegant attire.
The air itself was heavy with anticipation.
Thomas was already there, seated among the lords. His presence was calm and steady, as though he himself were part of the marble pillars that lined the hall.
At the very front, Leander stood towering in his luxurious black and gold robe. His long, silky black hair was pulled back neatly, giving him an even sharper, hotter look than usual.
His face was unreadable—perfectly composed, yet beneath his composure his chest tightened with unease.
He remembered vividly the first time. The humiliation of an empty altar. Moira’s disappearance had been a wound. Even now, though he trusted her
