Scarlett's POV
The hall was smaller than I had expected for something as formal as arbitration. It smelled of damp stone and oil lamps, as though time itself clung to its walls. I didn't even know why they had chosen this spot for a formal arbitration when it looked so gloomy and dark.
At the far end—ignoring Alexander, who was following me with a smug expression—two council scribes sat, their quills already poised, ready to write down every word, every slip, and every pause. Their faces were blank masks, eyes trained on parchment rather than people. They didn't even look up when we entered the room.
Alexander had already found his seat—next to mine. The flicker of lamplight turned his dark hair into gleaming bronze, his posture a perfect imitation of ease, but his eyes were locked onto
