The great hall of Lord Rennard’s manor was lit only by the tall iron candelabras, their flames flickering against the polished stone walls.
“My lord,” the guard announced with a bow, “you have a visitor.”
Lord Rennard frowned, his sharp features tightening. He waved his hand dismissively. “Send him away. I am not entertaining guests tonight.”
But before the guard could retreat, a figure already stood waiting in the parlor. Tall and clad in black, Azelar lingered with his arms folded behind his back.
Rennard froze at the sight of him. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed in fury.
“You,” Rennard hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “How dare you step foot into my house?”
At once, the guards stationed around the hall unsheathed their swords in unison, steel ringing in the tense air
