******
Conan Valerius Hunter stood alone in his chambers, facing the towering mirror bolted into the stone wall.
The room was dim, lit only by braziers whose flames flickered restlessly, casting warped shadows that crawled across the floor and up the walls. The mirror reflected a man who still looked every inch a ruler, tall, broad shouldered, commanding, but time and war had carved their price into him.
His long black hair fell past his shoulders in heavy waves, streaked faintly with silver he refused to acknowledge. His face was sharp and severe, high cheekbones cutting shadows beneath his eyes, his jaw clenched in a permanent scowl that spoke of a man who had never learned how to forgive. His gaze was still lethal, cold, calculating, and dangerous.
But it was not his face that held his attention.
It was his left shoulder.
Empty.
