The scent of pinewood and old paper lingered in the corridors of the Palacio Real. Evening sunlight poured in through the long stained-glass windows, casting golden patterns across the polished marble floor. It had been days since the parade that swept Madrid in a tide of celebration. Yet the true reckoning—of power, legacy, and future—was about to begin in the quiet heart of the palace.
Regent Lancelot paused before the high double doors of the royal chamber. Two palace guards stood to either side, their halberds resting at attention. They nodded once, then stepped aside.
The doors opened.