The obsidian throne room of the Pearl Kingdom was a cavernous expanse of polished stone and shimmering, dark light. Raven sat upon the great throne, his form appearing deceptively small against the massive, ancient structure. His feet did not quite touch the floor, yet his presence commanded the absolute, paralyzed attention of every soul in the chamber. He was twelve years old, a child in stature, but the heavy velvet cloak and the crown of sea-glass rested upon his shoulders with the terrifying weight of an eternal monarch.
Before him, the royal court was a sea of murmuring nobility, foreign dignitaries, and hardened military commanders. The air hummed with a tension that had little to do with the recent war and everything to do with the sight of a pre-teen boy presiding over the most dangerous throne on the continent.
A whisper, sharp and edged with thinly veiled skepticism, drifted up from the lower ranks of the Pearl nobility.
