The audience hall thundered like a storm. Ministers rose from their seats, robes flaring as they cried for blood, their voices colliding in a cacophony that shook the vaulted chamber. The Dowager's smile, faint and knowing, never faltered. She alone sat calm amid the tempest, as if she had already written the ending of this play.
Leroy stood in the eye of that storm, and in his chest the spark of vengeance grew hotter, sharper, as though the flames were being fanned by the very hatred aimed at him. Across the dais, the Emperor gripped the armrests of his throne so tightly the wood groaned under his fingers. His lips twitched with the temptation to smile: victory was near, his rival undone, the court turning against him.
Just then…
A sound cut through the hall.
Not a knock. No, it was a steady, deliberate… tap… tap… tap… The sound of a silver cane striking marble.
