At the centre of the gathering, several large chairs, carved from stone and polished wood, were already arranged in a half-circle, each one designed to convey status and power. The lesser lords moved hurriedly, straightening themselves and taking their places with pride, their earlier excitement now replaced with stiff respect.
One chair, however… stood out from the others. It was bigger than the rest. Forged from raw silver that gleamed even under the firelight, its surface rough yet majestic, shaped like something that had not been crafted… but conquered. It sat higher than the others, yet it was empty and still impossible to ignore.
Nicholas stepped forward as the faint scent of blood and battle followed him like a shadow. His sharp eyes swept across the gathered lords… then stopped on that chair.
He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, something dark flickering across his face. "Still empty," he muttered.
