The heavy iron bolts of the chamber doors did not drop with a loud, theatrical bang. They slid into their granite sockets with a dull, hydraulic thunk that vibrated through the marble floorboards.
Above the dais, the massive brass sconces hummed as their soft yellow flames died instantly, replaced by the eerie, high-frequency pulse of emerald light bleeding through the cast-iron floor grates. The air in the High Chamber, once heavy with the smell of old parchment and cold wax, turned sharp and metallic, reeking of ozone and superheated copper wiring.
In the gallery seats, total panic erupted. Financial directors, bank lawyers, and imperial auditors scrambled over polished mahogany benches, their silk coats catching on carved armrests as they threw their weight against the locked exits.
"Quiet!" Prince Bastian's voice boomed across the hall, a command forged in military command posts rather than courtrooms.
