[Imperial Palace – Grand Entrance / Late Afternoon Drama Hour]
The gold-trimmed carriage came to a stop with royal silence.
A liveried footman opened the door, and Silas Rynthall stepped down with the grace of a man who owned half the empire and worried about all of it.
Crisp cravat. Impeccable coat. Slight frown. Heavy sigh.
His boots clicked against the marble steps like punctuation marks from a man composing betrayal in his mind. He strode toward the towering gates of the Imperial Palace—straight-backed, steady, eyes forward, clearly preoccupied with Very Important Thoughts.
He didn't look left.
He didn't look right.
He didn't know.
Behind him…
A second carriage rolled to a halt.
Much simpler. Much quieter.
Much more suspicious.
And from its heavily tinted, drama-soaked window, two bejeweled silhouettes slowly emerged, like sapphires peeking through velvet shadows.
