The grand hall of the Lion Clan's palace was silent, it was empty, and that was a first.
Thick golden columns loomed like watchful sentinels, stretching toward the vaulted ceiling above. At the far end of the hall, on a throne carved from sun-bleached ivory and trimmed in gold, sat King Leon.
He was lounging, one leg hooked lazily over the armrest, as if the sacred throne were no more than a chair in his private quarters. His long blond hair cascaded in smooth waves over his shoulders, and intertwined in it was his index finger.
He twisted a strand slowly between them, visibly bored. His eyes, golden-amber with the faintest tinge of blue at the outer rim, glowed like gemstones—eyes that were striking enough to enchant anyone, if not for the simmering arrogance behind them.
Before him stood the Dowager Queen, his mother. Dignified even in frustration, her sharp gaze bore down on him.
She wore robes of blood red and deep gold, and her black cape only added to her fearsome look.
