The throne room was a cavern of tension, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and nervous sweat.
King Alistair sat slumped on his velvet throne, his crown feeling heavier than usual on his graying head. He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the gilded armrest, a small, impatient sound lost in the drone of political debate.
"Where's Liam?" the King whispered, leaning slightly to the side.
The royal guard standing at attention beside him didn't move his body, but he gave a almost imperceptible shake of his head. He didn't know. No one knew. The Crown Prince had vanished hours ago, storming out of his chambers in a fury that had terrified the servants.
The King sighed, a long, weary exhale that rattled in his chest. He muttered under his breath, "The court is in session, the fate of the kingdom is being argued, and he is nowhere to be seen."
"So what do you suggest, Your Highness?"
