SAPHRA'S POV Morning comes cold, I stand on the narrow balcony overlooking Lucien’s court, fingers curled around the balustrade, watching the day unfold below. The court is already full of petitioners clustered in uneasy knots, guards stationed like statues, and advisors murmuring behind raised sleeves.Lucien sits on the throne.Even from here, I can feel his aura.He is motionless, spine straight, hands resting loosely on the armrests. The crown catches the light, but it is his presence that holds the room in place. Every voice lowers when he shifts. Every movement waits for his permission.A farmer is brought forward.He is thin, stooped, clothes worn to softness by years of labour. His hat twists nervously in his hands as he kneels, forehead nearly touching the stone.“My king,” the man says, voice trembling. “I beg forgiveness.”Lucien inclines his head slightly. “Speak.”The sound of his voice carries upward, calm, and measured. No impatience or cruelty. Just his full attentio
Last Updated : 2026-01-18 Read more