Rowan walked through the ballroom as he had always known how to.
That was what struck Noel first. He watched as he reached the king and went down on one knee.
The king reached down and gripped his arm and pulled him up before the knee had fully landed.
"You're royalty," the king said. "You don't kneel before any man or woman. Not even me." He looked at his son's face. "You bow only to me."
Rowan looked at his father.
"I understand," he said.
The king gestured beside him.
Rowan moved to stand there, his grey eyes moving through the room calmly.
The murmuring had not stopped.
It moved through the crowd in waves — people recognising the face from the newspapers, from the reports, from weeks of a city being certain it knew who the Ivory Killer was and finding that certainty completely dismantled in real time.
The king raised his voice.
"Silence."
The room obeyed.
He looked at the queen and looked at Noel's father.
And he listed the crimes.
