Iva stepped into the council chamber, the heels of her borrowed slippers brushing the marbled floor like whispers. The firelight flickered across the stone walls, bathing the space in gold and shadows. She had been summoned — not by a servant, but by the King himself.
He stood near the arched window, his hands clasped behind his back, his broad shoulders rigid beneath the dark folds of his robe. The flames in the hearth reflected in his eyes, making him look like something carved out of storm and steel.
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