Alaric's POV
The iron-bound doors groaned open at my touch, spilling torch-light across the marble like liquid gold. The audience hall my hall l was already packed, a living tide of vampires bound to my name. They stood in serried ranks beneath the rib-vaulted ceiling, eyes catching firelight like a thousand amber blades. Curiosity glittered on a few faces, boredom on others; here and there, a wiser pair of pupils gleamed with unease. Good. Let the caution bloom. Tonight, fear was the only language I intended to speak.
I refused the carved obsidian throne rising at the far end of the dais. Too distant, too ceremonial. Instead I stopped at the foot of the steps, folding my arms, letting the hush thicken until even the torches seemed to crackle more quietly. I held every gaze I could catch, peeling away composure the way one strips bark from a branch slow, relentless, inevitable.
