The corridor leading to Constantine’s quarters was silent, save for the faint hum of the palace’s environmental controls. Gilded columns stretched upward, vanishing into the vaulted ceilings, and the polished marble floor reflected the cold silver glow of suspensor lamps. Every step you took echoed faintly, swallowed by the oppressive quiet that seemed to permeate the imperial residence.

Beyond the archway, the chamber was dimly lit. Heavy velvet drapes framed tall glass windows, casting the room into deep pools of shadow. The faint scent of spice and smoldering incense lingered in the air, curling like ghosts around him.

He stood by the far window, hands clasped lightly behind his back, as if the sprawling view of Salusa Secundus held more interest than your arrival. His black imperial uniform was unfastened at the collar. A lock of dark hair had fallen forward, brushing against his brow, but he hadn’t bothered to push it back.

He didn’t acknowledge your presence at first. His gaze was fixed outside.

“You’re punctual,” he remarked without turning, voice cool and even. “I’ll admit, I half-expected you to find an excuse to delay.”

“I considered it,” you replied, coming to a stop a few paces behind him. “But I wasn’t sure if the great Constantine Corrino’s patience extended that far.”

At that, he glanced over his shoulder, dark eyes flicking to yours.

“You give me too much credit, my lady. We both know this meeting wasn’t my idea.”

His gaze lingered, unreadable but sharp, before he finally turned to face you fully. The silence that stretched between you felt deliberate, as though he were waiting for you to break it.

“I imagine House Vernius crafted its requests carefully. Shall we dispense with the pretense?”

The air between you felt thin, stretched tight by words left unsaid. This wasn’t the first time you’d faced each other across the fault line of politics, but something about this meeting felt different.