Northern stood before the King, draped in a dashing ceremonial suit. The hall was filled with people—nobles and officials, soldiers and scholars, many who hadn't attended the war meeting and were seeing him for the first time. Those who had attended were present as well, their expressions carrying something the newcomers lacked: the memory of what he'd promised to do for them.
His mother, Lord, and the students were also present, clustered together near the left side of the hall.
He stood before the dais that led to the King and Queen's throne seats. Roma and Rieran flanked their parents, the Prince's expression unreadable, the Princess watching with what might have been curiosity.
Northern slowly lowered himself to one knee and placed his hands on his chest, just as King Ruger rose from his throne and marched forward.
Within himself, he thought about the gesture—and whether his earlier decision to not bow to King Ruger had made any sense to begin with.
