The drums slowed to a steady, measured beat. One step. Another. Each pulse of sound felt like it struck directly into Zhao Ling Xu's chest.
He was only a few paces from the dais now. The throne—dark wood polished to a mirror finish, trimmed in gold—loomed just ahead. The air around it felt hot, heavy. Even though he hadn't yet touched it, he could feel it—like it was alive, like it was watching him.
He paused at the bottom step.
A court official stepped forward, voice ringing through the hush of the hall. "Let His Highness ascend the dais and claim the seat of Heaven's mandate."
He swallowed, then took the first step.
The silk of his robe brushed against the stairs. His breath was tight in his throat. With every step, the music swelled—flutes winding up like gentle wind, the plucking of strings echoing through the marble chamber.
