The grand throne room felt like a cage of marble and whispers.After the initial session, the court had been dismissed for a brief recess, but the tension had only thickened. Caelan stood beside Lucien’s throne, silver robe immaculate, the mating bite on his neck deliberately visible. His quiet intelligence kept him alert, moonlight threads drifting subtly around his fingers, sensing every shift in the nobles’ moods.Lucien sat on the central throne, powerful and unyielding, golden eyes sweeping the room like a predator. His hand rested possessively on the arm of the consort’s throne, a silent claim that every noble could see.Elara Voss remained kneeling in the center, chains binding her, violet eyes still defiant. Rowan stood to the left, no longer chained but heavily watched, his charismatic smile masking the calculation in his gaze.Lord Varak stepped forward once more, his voice heavy with the weight of tradition. “Your Majesty, the court has seen the demonstration at Blackthorn
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