The morning after the betrothal announcement came with a terrifying clarity.
The palace was humming with a newfound lightness.
Servants whispered in the corridors, but the fearful edge to their gossip had vanished.
The political factions that had been circling like vultures for weeks finally landed, their talons retracted.
The North was secured. The restoration was permanent.
To the world outside the royal wing, everything looked like a resounding success.
Cassian walked to the council chamber expecting tension—expecting the air to be thick with the fallout of his decision.
Instead, he found Elias.
Elias was already there, seated at the long oak table, illuminated by the pale morning light.
He was functioning well, reviewing reconstruction reports that had wrapped up, signing off on supply routes, and directing clerks with a calm, efficiency that bypassed the need for deliberation.
When Cassian entered, Elias looked up neither did he look away.
