Chapter 103. Diplomacy
At the very border where Opalcrest’s last verdant hills kissed the ever-frozen highlands of the Everharts, a neutral building had been hastily constructed.
It was grand, despite its temporary purpose. Glistening white pillars lined the entrance, each etched with golden engravings that shimmered even under the dull midday light.
The structure mimicked the interior of a courtroom, though it carried the elegance of a sacred hall.
Ornate tapestries hung like forgotten legacies, and a massive round table sat at the center of the room—dividing the space with an invisible line, yet making that separation unmistakable.
On one side sat the nobles and diplomats of Opalcrest, clad in hues of deep sapphire and emerald, their eyes sharp, voices hushed.
The air around them was tense, a coiled wire ready to snap.
On the opposite side stood the Everharts.
Cold beauty and ethereal grace. Their silver-blue coats swept the marble like frost trails.
Their presence was no less tense, yet far more composed, like still water over a dangerous depth.
A single line—thin as a hair, yet sharp as a blade—ran through the center of the room, bisecting both nations. Neither side dared cross it.
And at the very end of that line, elevated slightly above all else, sat a throne that was neither of Opalcrest nor Everhart design.