Seven days.
That was how long the Siege of Sanctum lasted. But there were no battering rams or burning arrows. Instead, silence surrounded the city.
The Iron Legion stood shoulder to shoulder in their heavy plate armor, surrounding the Royal Palace. They did not attack or shout. They just stood there, a wall of steel that let nothing in or out.
No food carts. No messengers. No water trucks.
Inside the Palace, the King sat on his throne, wrapped in furs since the coal delivery never arrived. The grand halls were cold. The food stores were nearly empty. The servants whispered about leaving.
Inside the West Tower, however, it was summer.
Revas enchanted the fireplaces so they burned with a smokeless violet heat that never faded. The tables were loaded with roasted pheasants, glazed hams, and tiered cakes, all "donated" by merchants eager to please the new rulers.
Mirabelle sat at the head of the table, peeling a tangerine. The citrus scent cut through the rich air.
