The gong had said its piece at dawn and by mid morning the outer wall had transformed itself into something that was no longer a palace courtyard but not yet a battlefield — that uncomfortable in between space where men became soldiers in real time, strapping and checking and speaking in low voices with the specific economy of people who had decided that unnecessary words were weight they could not afford to carry.
Horses. Armour. The sound of metal finding metal. Banners being lifted into the grey morning air with a kind of ceremony that nobody had asked for but everyone understood was necessary, because some things needed to be marked even when the marking hurt.
Elara stood at the window of their chamber and watched it happen.
