"Father-in-law," Constantine's voice filled the lamplit hall of Arelate, smooth and controlled, every syllable measured to cut through the murmur of expectation that hung above the assembled crowd. Armor clinked with every movement as legionaries shifted at attention, and the air itself felt tight as drawn wire. Marble floors echoed with the memory of conquest, the memory of triumphs and betrayals. Courtiers and officers-men who had ridden through mud for both emperors-stood silent along the perimeter, each measuring the moment for its own meaning.