Justin
The intercom on my desk buzzed. Marissa’s voice announced, “Sir, your father is calling the board meeting to session. They are waiting for you in the conference room.”
Showtime.
I crushed the cigarette into the crystal ashtray and pushed myself to my feet, straightening my jacket.
The air in the corridor outside the conference room felt charged. I could hear the low murmur of voices before the double doors were opened by a waiting attendant.
Inside, the long mahogany table gleamed under the recessed lighting. It always felt like an interrogation room.
My father, King Alaric, sat at its head. His face was a sculpture of stern disapproval. He didn’t glance up as I entered, his gaze fixed on some imaginary point beyond the far wall.
Council members, who were a collection of old
