Eddran's jaw slacked completely, the final pillars of his political reality crumbling into absolute dust. His eyes shrank until his pupils were nothing but trembling, microscopic dots—the exact same expression of visceral, existential dread that had claimed the King of Belrath right before Lexel snapped his neck.
The king he had served, plotted against, and feared... was a dead man.
"Impossible!" Eddran shrieked, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, hysterical wail. He began to thrash violently, his heavy cold-iron chains clanging frantically against the stone walls. "Impossible! I've heard him speak! We have all heard him speak! He sits on the high throne! He commands the royal vanguard! He just announced a banquet! He... he cannot be a corpse!"
