The night had swallowed Drakonis' realm as a whole.
Beyond the towering windows of Ashen's private chambers, storm clouds dragged across the sky like bruised beasts, blotting out moon and stars alike.
Rain lashed the cliffs below, and every few moments lightning flashed over the sea, turning the black waters silver for the span of a breath.
Inside, the chamber was warm with firelight yet Ashen felt nothing but cold.
He sat alone in a carved chair near the hearth, one elbow resting against the armrest, a folded letter crushed in his hand.
The parchment had arrived by arrow through his balcony doors less than an hour ago.
With only three lines written in dark ink.
"Save your brother if you can. Refuse the throne if you wish to keep him breathing. The next corpse will wear royal blood."
The paper crumpled further in Ashen's fist until his knuckles whitened.
