The great foyer doors parted with quiet precision—not rushed, not urgent. Just controlled.
Inside, the grand ballroom of House Varel was already full. The highest of the Capital's nobility stood in carefully calculated clusters, their silks and tailored coats catching the filtered etherlight from the chandelier above. Crystal branches flickered overhead like ice frozen mid-sway, powered by a circulating spell that made each shimmer seem deliberate.
Conversation didn't stop immediately. Not at the first beat of the announcement.
It stopped on the second.
"Their Imperial Majesties," the steward declared, voice firm, ether-amplified and crystal-clear,
"His Radiance, Emperor Damian Lyon...
And His Grace, Consort Gabriel von Jaunez, Lord of Ashmont, Empress in Waiting."
The title hit the room like a drawn blade—elegant, ceremonial, and impossible to ignore.
All motion slowed.
And then they stepped through.
