The door to the manor's great hall shut behind me with a hollow thud, muffled by velvet and the low murmur of voices already gathered ahead.
Envoys.
Allies.
Opportunists.
The three most dangerous species of men in the world—and today, three species I needed to shepherd carefully.
The war was over, the last screams on the battlements long faded, the Francian crown shattered.
But peace—real peace—was its own battlefield, and the men waiting beyond the archway were armed with smiles sharper than swords.
My steps echoed through the corridor, each one grounding me in the role I was about to play.
Emperor.
Conqueror.
Negotiator.
The hall opened wide as I entered, the long table gleaming beneath a newly hung banner of Romanus gold and crimson.
Outside, the charred skyline of the fallen capital loomed through tall windows, a reminder of the cost of hesitation.
Inside, three men rose.
The first wore Britannian navy-blue, trimmed with silver thread.
