King Carlos IV remained motionless for a long moment, his fingers resting on the carved arm of a chair beside his writing desk, as though the weight of the empire itself pressed upon them. The royal office was wrapped in a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackle of a dying fire and the distant murmur of guards beyond the closed doors.
At last, he spoke.
"What say you, Godoy? How shall we answer the insolence of the Church?"
The question did not sound like anger alone.It carried fatigue… and something far more dangerous—fear.
Standing across the desk, Manuel Godoy inclined his head slightly before stepping forward with measured confidence. His boots sounded softly against the polished floor, the only movement within the quiet room. His eyes shone not with devotion, but with calculation sharpened by crisis.
