*** Days Later
The sun had already begun its slow descent beyond the capital's western spires, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose, when the first carriages began to arrive at the imperial palace.
They came in a steady stream, a river of polished wood and gleaming metal, their wheels turning in a rhythm that had been rehearsed for centuries. Each one bore the crest of a noble house, some ancient, some newly risen, all of them eager to claim their place at the emperor's celebration.
A carriage of deep emerald green, pulled by four grey horses whose manes had been braided with silver thread. The Ashworth crest glittered on its door, a tower wrapped in thorns, and the crowd that had gathered behind the palace gates murmured as it passed.
"The Ashworths haven't attended a ball in years."
"Wasn't their daughter disgraced?"
"Quiet. They can hear you."
