The high arched windows of the eastern balcony overlooked the lower stone courtyard, where the morning mist was slowly burning off under a pale, watery sun.
Yerel stood with one hand resting casually on the marble balustrade, a silver goblet held loosely in his right fingers. He was dressed in a pristine white tunic trimmed with dark gold thread. From this vantage point, the palace grounds usually looked quiet, orderly, and entirely under his control.
This morning, however, the courtyard below was crawling with heavy iron armor.
Groups of four and five royal guards were marching in strict formation, their heavy boots clattering against the cobblestones. They weren't just patrolling the main gates, they were opening supply wagons, inspecting the undercarriages of carriages, and posting static watches at every single archway leading into the inner castle.
