"The King had died."
The news came like a silent storm after shrouding the entire capital city in the lingering grey fog of demise.
It slowly spread into every alley, every recess until the birds fell silent and even the wind itself seemed to carry the weight of it.
At first, neither Nazia nor the Archduke spoke. Not because they didn't understand, but because they did.
The King was no ordinary ruler of some small turf, and his death was no ordinary event either.
He had ruled with iron fists, magic, and fear. To die now, of all times, exactly on the day of the Archduke's wedding, felt less like a coincidence and more like a catalyst.
A trigger for something terrible to happen.
The fact alone that the news was delivered to them so fast was jarring in itself.
His Majesty had passed before dawn.
