The silence in the throne room was suffocating, bearing down on Alura with its inescapable weight. The water still dripping from Matilde’s hair onto the floor was almost as deafening as the occasional crackle or snap of the wood burning in the braziers all around the room. Alura didn’t even dare to blink as she knelt before the emperor, eyes fixated upon the alabaster floor beneath her. Dioclaetus rarely ever needed to speak to make his point known. He simply sat back in his golden th...