Chapter 37. The Hollow Crown

The Council Hall had not known a silence like this in centuries. The torches along the walls burned with a harsh, blue flame, yet even their crackle was swallowed by the stillness. This was not the hush of piety or respectful awe; it was the kind of silence that tasted of held breath and because-the-moment-has-arrived fear. It pressed against the ear like fog and settled heavy in every chest. The vaulted stone chamber—once alive with the clang of heated debate, the murmur of robes sliding over flagstones—now stood motionless, lit only by austere cold fire and the quivering shadows cast by an evening that should have been ordinary.

But nothing tonight was ordinary.

Serana entered alone. No armored guard flanked her, no herald trumpeted her arrival. She wore layers of black silk, each fold dyed in the rusty darkness of iron-root and the ash-white bloom of dead blooms, the threads so tightly woven that they drew in light rather than reflect it. Her face, pale against the so