Deathly silence filled the council hall.
The heavy double doors slowly closed, shutting out the screams and the sounds of bodies being dragged away.
The nobles whose names had just been called, their guilt proven beyond doubt, had been escorted out one by one.
The remaining two-thirds felt as though an invisible hand had closed around their throats. Even their breathing was cautious.
They sat rigidly, afraid that even shifting in their seats would draw attention.
No one whispered to a neighbor, and no one dared look directly at the young, cold figure at the head of the table.
Joern and Veris wore their usual expressions, the only two who still looked composed.
Even so, neither had smiled once.
What Louis had just displayed was not merely power, but an unquestionable authority to rule.
Time itself seemed to have stopped in the hall.
Suddenly, the faint scrape of chair legs broke the silence.
Almost everyone looked up at once, their hearts tightening.
He had risen.
The young man was not particularly imposing in stature, yet the pressure beneath his composure seemed to thin the very air.
He walked around the long council table at an unhurried pace, each step seeming to land directly on their hearts.
His gaze passed over every person, from the decrepit Viscounts to the hotheaded young Frontier Barons. Not one could meet his eyes.
At last, he stopped behind Viscount Roland.
The old man had already gone rigid. Sweat streamed down his forehead, soaking his collar.
"Don't be afraid." Louis's voice was gentle, like a kindly younger relative soothing a shaken elder. "They were dragged away because they did something wrong."
He paused and leaned closer. "Have you done anything wrong?"
Roland jolted, nearly leaping out of his chair, and frantically shook his head. "No, no!