The Grand Hall of the Eastern Palace had never been more opulent.
Everything glistened. Everything gleamed. Everything was meant to dazzle.
Purple silk draped from every high beam, so long it rippled against the polished floor like waves on still water. Gold tassels hung from tall lanterns. Red paper fans marked with calligraphy of blessings had been fastened to every open column. The hall smelled of fine incense, sweet wine, and something sharper beneath it—nerves. Power. And fear.
Today was the day Pei Rong's long-laid plans bore fruit.
And he had spared no expense.
Dignitaries from all over the empire were being ushered into the hall. The grand staircase leading to the ceremonial seats had been freshly waxed. Every step reflected candlelight. Courtiers wore their most lavish robes—brocade, satin, layers upon layers of fabric stitched with the finest threads of silver and blue.
The atmosphere buzzed with fake reverence.
Every movement was rehearsed.
