No sound stirred in the deep bowels of the world as Merelao unveiled the spark that had ignited the conflagration.
He had long harbored suspicion that his uncle's heart was a nest of vipers, yet it was only when the Fox's shadow had delivered this that the last of his doubts had withered.
The throne would never be granted by decree; he would only sit once he made himself crimson hue from the blood of traitors.
"I do not believe it… how could you possibly have laid hands upon such a thing?" Sir Aldon's voice was a ragged rasp, his eyes bloodshot and frantic as they bored into the beautiful man before him.
Merelao offered no immediate reply. He merely tilted his head, the fire-light catching the golden silk of his hair. The older knight, his patience shredded by the dark, rattled the bars in a silent demand for the truth.
