The court was a stark contrast to Astrid's garden. There, moonlight had draped blossoms in silver, softening the night with warmth and whispers. Here, the air hung heavy with torch smoke and the acrid tang of ink. Long tables stretched beneath the vaulted ceiling, maps of kingdoms unfurled across their surfaces.
Nobles and generals murmured among themselves, voices clipped with impatience. As Alaric entered, the room straightened at once, a ripple of silence falling over them.
At the far end, King Heimdal sat enthroned upon the dais, his presence both commanding and shadowed by weariness. Alaric frowned, wondering what matter was so urgent it dragged the court into session at night.
