The gold leaf that coated the vaulted ceilings of the Southern Palace had begun to peel, flaking away like sun-dried skin to reveal the cold, unyielding granite beneath. For decades, the glittering facade had served its purpose, blinding the world to the rot that festered within the kingdom's foundations. But the eclipse had washed away the illusion. What remained was a chastened empire, stripped of its arrogance, quieted by the heavy, rhythmic tread of northern and western guards occupying its pristine white boulevards.
Inside the Royal Solar, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of dried lavender and the clean, sharp bite of pine oil—a scent brought from the wild forests of the West to combat the cloying, stagnant perfume of the Southern court.
