Lucian
“…and of course, my father fully supports any additional resources the Council might need,” Elara Wynthorne said, smiling in that way she’d perfected over the years. “You know we’ve always stood behind your leadership, Your Majesty.”
I’d heard some version of that sentence hundreds of times.
We stood in one of the main corridors near the east wing, winter light streaming in through the tall windows. Elara had positioned herself just so—angled toward me, profile catching the light, posture elegant without being too formal. Perfect. Practiced.
She was the daughter of an old political family and a high advisor in her own right; she knew exactly how to blend power and charm. From her elegant dress to the smooth sweep of her hair—all chosen to signal poise, stability, suitable queen
