The council chamber had not yet filled, but the atmosphere was already strained. A storm had passed the night before, leaving the palace cloaked in the smell of rain and the silence of brewing disquiet.
Lucien entered without ceremony, flanked only by Rowan. He did not dress in court finery, no brocade, no crests, only dark, utilitarian robes. A prince by blood, yet every thread of his presence screamed exile. Still, as he strode to his place at the side alcove, murmurs rose and fell around him like startled birds.
Minister Caelis arrived moments later, robed in red and grey, the colors of his house. His face, smooth as polished marble, betrayed nothing. But Lucien saw it the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed before resting on the edge of the council table.
Queen Dowager Lilian had not arrived.
That meant this was a test.
