The air in the underground secret room was stagnant and cool, carrying the heavy scent of damp earth mixed with the metallic tang of old iron. Deep beneath the foundations of the Astraia palace, far from the prying eyes of the concubines and the drunken laughter of the guards, the chamber was a pocket of absolute silence. Only a single, circular table made of dark, unpolished stone occupied the center of the room. Above it, a solitary chandelier held four thick candles that wept wax onto the floor, their flickering orange flames casting long, dancing shadows against the rough-hewn walls. Constantine stood at the head of the table, his face partially obscured by the shifting light. Opposite him, the three women who formed the foundation of his rising power waited in hushed anticipation.
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