Chapter 9: Power And Title In Critic Arley
Citadel.
Critic-Citadel, Critic-Ishire.
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It’s been a moment since they both walked out into the serene tranquility of the Citadel’s garden from the dining hall and he hasn’t uttered a word yet.
Lydia is adorned in an elegant gown of silk and lace, she stood poised, her demeanor a reflection of Critic Arley’s grace and refinement.
The emperor, tall and regal, stood with her in the midst of the fragrant blooms and winding pathways, his presence commanding yet enigmatic.
As they walked, Lydia stole glances at Salvatore, her heart fluttering with anxiety with a tinge of anticipation.
She was wondering why he had summoned her to this clandestine meeting. The soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds provided a backdrop to the palpable tension that hung between them.
As he paused beneath the arching branches of an ancient oak Lydia does too, but the emperor remained silent, his gaze fixed upon the horizon with an inscrutable intensity.
Lydia unable to bear the suspense any longer, summoned the courage to speak.
"Your majesty?" her voice trembling slightly, she called him.