Chapter 205: I stand with you.
The great hall shimmered with golden light, a cathedral of art and wealth rather than a simple room. Gilded sconces held hundreds of candles, their flames mirrored in towering gilt-framed mirrors along the walls. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the vaulted ceiling like frozen constellations, scattering shards of brilliance across polished marble floors.
Above, painted gods and muses floated across the frescoed ceiling, their flowing robes and solemn gazes watching from their eternal perch as though blessing, or judging, the ceremony below.
Lucas stepped through the towering double doors into this world spun from opulence. His coat‑cape moved like liquid ink, embroidery glinting in the sea of gold and marble. His boots clicked softly against the stone, each step an echo through the cavernous hall. Sunlight cut through tall arched windows, pooling on the floor in bright, perfect rectangles, washing over rows of sculpted figures that lined the walls, each pedestal bearing a marble saint or hero frozen mid‑gesture.
He had seen the hall at the brief rehearsal the night before, but Serathine and Cressida had clearly decided that was only a draft. Overnight, the space had been transformed into something that seemed to hover between reality and myth.
Fresh arrangements of white lilies and deep crimson roses curled around the bases of the statues, their petals scattering faint perfume into the air. The gilded mirrors now bore subtle drapings of silk in Fitzgeralt violet and imperial gold, catching the light and multiplying it into soft rivers that chased one another across the marble floor. Between the columns, slender crystal vases stood on plinths, each holding sprays of orchids so perfect they might have been carved from glass.
Even the chandeliers, already decadent in their own right, seemed brighter, polished to a brilliance that sent shards of light skipping like stars. Above, the frescoed ceiling felt alive, the painted gods watching with more vivid color than Lucas remembered, as though they too had been woken for this moment.
His breath caught despite himself.
Serathine and Cressida hadn’t simply decorated a hall; they had built a throne room for a legend.
For him.
Lucas adjusted the fall of his coat‑cape as he moved deeper into the golden expanse, refusing to let the awe show on his face. He carried himself as though he belonged in a hall like this, because today, no matter how absurd it felt, he did.