(Romulus POV)
Morning arrived quietly.
Too quietly.
The curtains stirred as warm desert air slipped into the imperial guest chamber, carrying with it the faint scent of water and stone—remnants of last night's celebration. The Festival of Flow had ended without incident, its lanterns extinguished, its music swallowed by dawn.
I woke before the sun fully rose.
For a moment, I did not move. My arm rested where Almera had slept beside me hours earlier. The space was empty now, cool where her warmth had been. She had risen before me, as she often did when duty called—leaving behind nothing but the faintest trace of her presence.
It should have unsettled me.
Instead, it steadied me.
I sat up slowly, rolling my shoulders as the weight of the day pressed down on me. The rage from the night before lingered like embers beneath ash—controlled, banked, but far from extinguished.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," I said.
