Arthur and Edward stepped through the towering oak doors, their boots echoing against the polished marble floor. Pillars rose on either side like silent sentinels, carved with intricate crests of lions and suns.
Before them, a deep crimson carpet stretched outward, leading to a throne made of gold and white stone, its surface gleaming beneath the light filtering through the stained glass windows.
The capital's grandeur was on full display. But Edward paid it no mind.
His gaze locked onto the figure seated upon the throne.
A broad-shouldered man sat reclined, not muscular but imposing nonetheless. A trimmed beard framed his weathered face, and despite the years visible in the lines beneath his eyes, his smile shone bright as his arms lifted wide.
"Arthur!" the man's voice thundered through the hall. "My son has returned!"
Arthur slowed to a stop, then bowed his head slightly. "Father."
