Night unfurled like a velvet decree across Mehrawan, and the palace—so long a place of polished ritual and gilded propriety—became courtroom, battlement, and crucible. Word moved faster than lanterns: the Queen Mother would be summoned. The council chamber, with its river-long ebony table, was prepared as if for a coronation; only tonight the throne would hear accusation, not praise. Torches burned higher than custom dictated, casting hard halos around faces that habitually wore gentle courtesy. Courtiers rustled their silks and tried to tuck away the tremors at their throats.
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