Amelia
The emergency summit had been called in a panic. It wasn’t planned as a milestone or framed as a celebration. It was stitched together under pressure, foreign governments issuing ultimatums, trade routes buckling, and neighboring kingdoms threatening sanctions.
If we didn’t offer the illusion of diplomacy, we risked becoming the next failed state broadcast around the world. The palace called it historic, a new page in our fractured history, but everyone who walked into that ballroom already knew what it really was: a temporary ceasefire dressed up in protocol.
They stripped everything ornate from the room. There were no chandeliers, no velvet tapestries, and no illusions of civility to soften the tension. Instead, there were soundproofing panels, concealment enchantments, and row
