The imperial convoy pulled to a stop at the foot of House Varel's marble arch.
The Winter Ball of Lady Serathine was never quiet—but tonight, it was electric. Guests lined the lantern-lit exterior, the cold air sharp with ether pulses as journalists jockeyed behind a gleaming cordon line, their ether-cameras hovering like watchful insects. Gold-trimmed drones zipped above the crowd, feeding live feeds to the political channels.
"The Emperor and his Consort are expected any moment," a polished reporter whispered into a mic just meters from the barrier. "We've already seen Lady Serathine herself take position at the main staircase—her gown and hair clearly a nod to imperial loyalty. The court is watching."
"It's the first joint appearance since the Consort's appointment," another added from a slightly more ruthless feed. "If tonight goes poorly, House Varel's risk could become House Varel's legacy."
