The next two days passed in a steady rhythm of obligations Dax was required to attend. Briefings, signatures, and a short negotiation over fishing rights with the coastal governors that nearly turned into a shouting match until Dax glanced up and the room remembered its spine.
By the time sunlight slanted through the eastern windows of Parliament, the palace walls felt far away. He exhaled while exiting the room with Tyler, his secretary, and Andrew, his chief of security, in tow. Dax had exchanged his usual attire and lighter gold mantle for the traditional uniform of the King of Saha: black, fitted, and embroidered with gold thread in patterns older than most of the empire's ministries. Over it, he wore the formal mantle reserved for parliamentary sessions, which was heavier and denser in weave, reminding everyone in the chamber that power does not begin here.
It entered the room wearing its own history.
