The jade curtains of the Palace of Eternal Flames were fine, carved in delicate layers that filtered the dawn light as if they were emerald silk. Their threads gleamed with the morning dew, reflecting green flashes that danced across the marble floors. Each fold seemed to whisper secrets of centuries past, and that day, the light seemed dark, laden with omens.
But that morning they weren't filtering light... they were filtering shadows. Shadows that moved carefully, observing, evaluating.
There, behind the ornate panels, someone was watching. The eyes were barely visible beneath the hood, attentive to every movement of the consort.
"The consort is pulling the strings of the throne," whispered a hooded voice, trembling and deep.
"And he does so with the dragon's blessing," replied another, firmer, as if the mere act of saying it reinforced the truth. "That makes him more dangerous than any general."
