The council chamber was cold—not from weather, but from something far deeper. Distrust. Tension. Whispers that hissed like serpents between golden columns. Saif sat unmoving, his hand clenched tight around the carved arm of his throne-like seat, eyes trained on the cluster of advisors before him. They spoke in turns, their tones varying from concern to contempt, but one thread ran through them all: fear.
And suspicion.
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