In the antechamber of the council chamber, Severin stood by the arched window, his silhouette dark against the pale winter sunlight. He appeared detached, a man merely waiting for the day's business to conclude, but his eyes were never still.
He was a collector of patterns.
Across the room, the reorganization of the throne was on full display.
Nico stood at Elias's right shoulder, a silent sentinel who didn't need to be told when a conversation was over or when a document required a signature. Severin watched as a minor lord approached Elias; before the man could even finish his preamble, Nico leaned in, whispering a brief context into Elias's ear.
Elias listened. He didn't look toward the head of the room. He didn't seek the silent, grounding confirmation from Cassian that had defined every public appearance for a decade.
