The throne room was filled with nobles and diplomats, their voices low as they waited. Outside the palace, the gates were open. The people crowded the forecourt, waiting for the great bell to ring. Only then would they know a regent had been named.
At the top of the dais stood the emperor's throne, draped in banners.
It was empty, but everyone knew it still belonged to the emperor, too sick to sit upon it. A step lower was the Regent's chair, smaller but finely carved. One step lower still was the seat for Princess Metheea.
She sat there, trying to calm her thoughts. Everything had gone well so far.
The herald, official messenger of the crown, struck his staff against the marble. The sound cracked through the hall, echoing from pillar to pillar until every whisper died. Silence fell, and all eyes turned toward the dais.
"His Highness, Lord Regent of the Empire!"
