Back in the capital, Princess Didi knew something had gone wrong the moment she looked into the palace courtyard.
Carriages filled the space from gate to gate, far beyond the usual flow of nobles and petitioners.
She recognized the crests on the coach doors one by one, and her unease climbed with every fresh identification.
Every crest below represented soldiers, land, and generations of accumulated influence.
That meant Didi was not watching a meeting but a battlefield waiting for its first weapon to move.
These were not the lighter vehicles that heirs used for visits, but grand ceremonial coaches brought out only for patriarchs.
The rulers themselves had come, every last one of them, on the same afternoon without warning.
Wheels had scored fresh lines across the courtyard stones, crossing one another until the ground resembled a war map.
Rulers of that weight gathered in person only for a coronation, a war, or a crisis touching both.
