The palace was silent.
Not the silence of sleep. The silence of fear.
Servants moved through the corridors with their heads down, their footsteps quick and quiet. Guards stood frozen at their posts, afraid to shift their weight, afraid to breathe too loud. Even the torches seemed to burn lower, as if trying to hide from something.
Caelion sat alone in his chambers.
The fire in the hearth had died hours ago. He had not relit it. The room was dark, lit only by the faint silver glow of his own eyes. Frost covered the windows, thick and unyielding. His breath misted in the air.
He had not moved since Ravien left.
The shadow servant had returned with news. The witch's house was empty. She had fled. Not because someone warned her. Because she was smart enough to know he would come.
Caelion respected that.
It would not save her.
He rose from his chair.
