The days following the coup attempt were a blur of activity and tension. As the sun rose on the first morning after our victory, I found myself standing in the ruins of the throne room, surveying the damage. Shattered glass crunched beneath my feet, and the acrid smell of smoke still hung in the air.
"Your Majesty," a voice called, and I turned to see General Thorne approaching. His arm was in a sling, a testament to the fierce fighting of the previous day. "The preliminary reports are in. We've accounted for all the captured rebels and are beginning interrogations."
I nodded, my mind already racing with the implications. "And our losses?"
Thorne's face tightened. "Twenty-three dead, over fifty wounded. We're still assessing the full extent of the damage to the palace and surrounding ar
