Sunlight spilled through the high arched windows, casting golden patterns across the marble floor of the palace corridors.
Selena, queen mother, moved with quiet dignity, her robes brushing softly against the stone, the embroidery glimmering where the light touched. Courtiers and attendants bowed low as she passed, parting quickly from her path.
Her face was calm, but her eyes carried the weight of memory—of a son once small enough to cling to her hand, now grown and crowned king of the realm.
The air was alive with the hum of the palace—guards standing tall in polished armor, maids going about their business. Yet all seemed to hush in her presence, as though the palace itself honored her passage.
At last she reached the great doors of her son's chamber. Two guards stepped aside and
