The ceremony hall of Roslew's imperial residence had been designed for power.
Not merely beauty, though it was beautiful enough to make silence feel expensive. Light poured through tall glass panels, softened by suspended white silk and gold-threaded banners that moved faintly with the controlled airflow. The main aisle stretched like a blade through the center of the hall, polished stone reflecting flowers, uniforms, formal robes, and the quiet shimmer of cameras positioned discreetly enough to pretend they were not devouring history.
Everyone was taking their place.
That was when the wedding stopped being preparation and became reality.
