The door to the king's study didn't just open; it exploded inward, slamming against the stone wall with a crack that echoed like a gunshot.
Lynna stormed in.
Her face was a mask of crimson rage, her hands curled into white-knuckled fists at her sides.
The winter sun had already bled out behind the mountains, casting the room in shadow, but the darkness inside her was far deeper.
She had heard the whispers.
The rumors crawling through the palace like rats in the walls.
Commander Vaelith had escaped.
And the slave girl, Elara, was gone with him.
The news had infected everyone.
Servants with their heads bowed too low.
Guards exchanging glances that lingered too long.
Even the slaves, usually silent as ghosts, were whispering in the dark.
Lynna could hardly breathe through the fury
