The heavy doors of the council chamber swing open with a deep groan, and a hush falls over the room.
I step inside, my heart hammering in my chest, though I keep my face neutral. The afternoon sun filters through the high arched windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor.
The air is thick with tension, the scent of aged wood and ink mingling with the underlying musk of authority and skepticism.
At the head of the long table, King Damon sits, his expression unreadable, but his brown eyes—sharp and calculating—are locked onto me.
Around him, the council members whisper among themselves, their murmurs barely audible but their disapproval evident in the way they glance in my direction.
Caspian stands to the side, his arms crossed, his jaw set in a hard line. His father, the king, watches me as if waiting for me to slip up.