King Jared sat at the head of the table in the grand food hall with a slightly bored look on his face. His gaze was low, almost heavy-lidded, as if he could barely muster the will to remain present.
His wife, Clara, sat beside him, regal and distant. He gave his food more attention than he gave her. Each movement of his hand—from plate to mouth—was methodical, indifferent. The silver spoon clinked against his plate with quiet rhythm, echoing faintly in the enormous hall.
Around the vast, arched space, council members and high-ranking figures within the court sat in stiff lines, positioned according to rank and bloodline. Candlelight flickered against the tall stone walls, casting long shadows over sharp faces and twitching ears.
