Alexandra stood before the mirror in her assigned chamber, adjusting the formal attire provided for her appearance before the Council of Monarchs. The garments were beautiful—finely woven fabric in the Lionhart colors of blue and silver, with subtle embroidery that marked her as a direct line member without ostentation. Yet despite their quality, they felt constricting, almost suffocating.
Or perhaps that was merely the weight of what lay ahead.
A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. "Enter," she called, expecting a servant with final instructions.
Instead, Raphael stepped into the room, his healer's robes exchanged for more formal attire befitting his status as Roman's son. "Are you prepared?" he asked without preamble.
Alexandra turned from the mirror, studying her father's face for clues to his thoughts. "As much as anyone can be when facing seven of the most powerful individuals on the continent."
