Night draped itself over the capital like a velvet shroud, softening the palace's gold-edged brilliance into muted blue shadows. The day's turmoil had settled into a deceptive calm, but Celestia knew better. Old power never surrendered quietly. It waited, coiled, patient, watching for the moment to strike back.
And tonight, it would.
Celestia stood on her balcony, a shawl draped loosely around her shoulders as the cold evening wind lifted strands of her silver-white hair. From here she could see the faint torch-lights lining the outer walls, hear the distant clatter of guards changing shifts, smell the sharpness of rain brewing in the clouds.
"Your Highness."
Lysander stepped beside her, bowing with that mixture of stern professionalism and concerned loyalty he rarely showed anyone else. "The heirs have returned to their guest chambers. They insisted on patrolling near the imperial council hall, but I convinced them you needed rest."
