(At Night)
The night air is crisp, and from the stone railing, I can see the courtyard below filling with the elite of two worlds. The Elvanyr nobles move with elegant, measured grace, while the Imperial lords stand in rigid, defensive clusters.
Even from this height, the murmur of their voices sounds like the buzzing of hornets—sharp, restless, and deeply annoyed. They don't want to be here; they want to be home, nursing their bruised egos.
I step back from the edge. Behind me, Kael is a silent pillar of steel. Lucian and Aerynthar approach, their footsteps echoing in sync. Lucian stops in front of me, his expression a complicated knot of anxiety and duty.
"Everyone will be there in a few minutes," he says, his voice low. "I hope you aren't going to complicate this situation even more, Cyrina. The peace is paper-thin right now."
I offer him a calm, reassuring nod. "Worry not, dear. I'll fix this."
