CHAPTER 31
Grace sat at the head of the hall, her crown steady, her expression measured. Every move was deliberate. She knew the whispers from the archives had already spread: that she shouted into shadows, that Robert's ghost walked near her. The banquet was meant to counter that. To show her strength. To assure her people.
The nobles filed in, bowing low, their silks brushing the polished stone floor. The courtiers followed, faces stretched into smiles that barely masked unease. Even the servants moved carefully, as if afraid of startling their king.
Grace lifted her goblet. "Tonight," she began, her voice calm but carrying through the hall, "we do not speak of war. We do not speak of loss. Tonight, we remind ourselves of what we still have, unity, and hope".
A murmur of agreement rippled. Some even clapped politely.
But a Councillor leaned toward Honest, his voice low yet sharp enough for Grace to notice. "Unity," he muttered, "is fragile when the king wrestles with shadows."
