The storm over Blackmoor Palace hadn't broken for hours.
Thunder cracked like cannon fire across the sky as Cambria stood at the balcony of the east wing, watching the horizon bleed into shadows. Below her, the courtyard was teeming with guards, their armor glinting under the flickering torch lights. They were doubling the patrols ever since Knox's last strike, nothing could be trusted. Not the walls. Not the silence. And certainly not the people.
Behind her, the doors creaked.
Cambria didn't turn. "If you're here to report that the western perimeter has been breached again, I already know."
Lucien's voice was low and rough. "This time, it's not Knox."
She turned slowly, her silver gown sweeping across the stone like mist. Her crown, the one she had bled and fought for, rested lightly on her brow, but there was nothing light in her gaze.
"Who then?"
Lucien stepped into the light, his face grim. "The High Council of Elarith. They're demanding an emergency summit."
