They called it a summit, but it was a siege in velvet.
The High Tower’s uppermost hall, known as the Crown Room, had not seen so many nobles in a decade. The walls were lined with stained glass portraits of rulers past, casting colorful judgments down on the polished floor below. There were no guards inside—only titles, glances, and the threat of exclusion.
Merrow stood at the center, flanked by Venet and Thorne. Others clustered in arcane loyalties. Some refused to sit.
"This meeting," Merrow began, "is not to appease the crowd. It is to remind ourselves who still governs this kingdom."
Venet stepped forward. "The guild uprising must be reframed. Their tactics are theatrical. Their demands impossible."
"Their tactics," Thorne said mildly, "have shifted public sentiment. That is not n
