The midnight hour had descended upon the capital of Astraia, bringing with it a silence so absolute it felt heavy. In the private chambers of Prince Constantine, the air was stagnant, carrying the faint, lingering scent of expensive beeswax candles and the distant, metallic tang of the citys thriving foundries. A single lamp flickered on a mahogany desk, casting long, jagged shadows that danced across the stone walls like restless spirits. Constantine did not sleep. He sat by the window, his eyes fixed on the moonlit horizon, though his mind was a storm of calculations. The consolidation of economic power had been successful, and the news of Elaras fury in the North had undoubtedly begun its journey toward him through the invisible threads of his intelligence network.
He could feel the sh
