The air was tense, the scent of old parchment paper and ink clinging to the stone walls like secrets too long kept or forgotten.
Casimir stood near the map-strewn table, one hand resting on the Summerlands' carved emblem, his other curled around the hilt of his sword.
Caroline stood beside him, dressed in a cool blue gown that shimmered like morning frost, the silver circlet of her crown catching the sunlight. Her magic simmered just beneath the surface, she was calm and alert.
The doors opened with a resonant creak.
King Cyrus of the Spring Court entered, his expression unreadable, though the set of his jaw betrayed tension. Behind him trailed two of his personal guards and an archivist clutching a weathered satchel.
"Cyrus," Casimir said with a careful nod. "You bring news?"
"I bring truths you will not like, about Ashfall." Cyrus stopped across from them, his green-and-gold cloak brushing the stone floor.
