The streets of the Astraia capital had been transformed into a sea of midnight velvet. Everywhere the eye could wander, the jagged, elegant petals of black roses clung to the limestone walls, draped over balconies, and carpeted the cobblestone paths. The scent was intoxicating, a heavy, musk-laden perfume that seemed to dull the senses of the thousands who had gathered for the celebration. Above the central plaza, massive silk banners fluttered in the evening breeze, bearing the crest of the lion beneath a shower of falling petals. It was a masterpiece of stagecraft, a visual feast designed to rewrite the identity of a kingdom.
"The fragrance is almost too thick, is it not?" Seraphina whispered, adjusting the collar of Constantine’s ceremonial robe. She stood behind him in the staging are
