The palace was a tomb of stone and silence.
The grand halls, earlier choked with the perfumed breath of nobility and the scurrying of servants, now lay empty under the flickering gaze of torchlight.
Guards marched the corridors with rhythmic, hollow steps, while outside, the winter wind clawed at the stained glass like a dying thing.
But in Commander Vaelith's chambers, there was no sleep.
No peace.
A map of the palace sprawled across the table, ink lines marking corridors of power and rooms of sin.
Vaelith stood over it, motionless.
His silver eyes were open, fixed on the parchment, but he wasn't seeing the architecture.
He was seeing her.
Elara.
Shivering on the edge of his bed.
Elara, sinking into the bathwater until her teeth stopped chattering, her eyes closing as the warmt
