While Atreaum's palace was built with bone, sandstone, quartz, and obsidian, the underground was full of hollowed-out tunnels that led to all sorts of places. The previous monarch (centuries before Queen Marguerite) enjoyed traveling to other kingdoms but did not enjoy the heat.
Today, most of these tunnels were forgotten by everyone but the eldest maids, butlers, and caretakers.
Well.
And Elian.
He much preferred it to the upper elite in Atreaum's court, where silence could sharpen into a blade. The shadow mortician already knew he wasn't meant to be here--in the queen's private war chamber--but his training kept his footsteps light and his breathing was softer than magic.
The guards at the perimeter bowed to him out of habit.
They thought he was still loyal to the crown.
He still wore the robes, and he still carried the chain-bound Shadowrite Grimoire. Currently, a low hum of regret was sealed within its pages.
