The breakfast had ended, but the taste of bile and fear lingered in the air like a bad smell.
King Lodrick stood in the War Hall, staring down at a map spread across a massive oak table.
Red markers indicated enemy positions—targets to be crushed, cities to be burned.
Black markers showed the locations of his own forces, his tools of destruction.
Several generals stood nearby, sweating, awaiting orders.
None dared speak first.
The king's temper was a volatile mix of rage and boredom, unpredictable at the best of times.
Today, the air around him crackled with a particularly dangerous kind of energy.
The doors opened.
A guard entered and immediately dropped to one knee, forehead touching the cold stone.
"Your Majesty
."Lodrick didn't look away from the map. His voice was a low
