The corridor is deceptively peaceful, far removed from the grand chambers where negotiations and ceremonies usually unfold. It’s narrow, quiet, an old wing lined with portraits that time itself seems to have forgotten. A chill breeze seeps through the ancient stone walls, making the lone lanterns flicker and cast tremulous light on faces long past.
-
My footsteps echo softly, the hush filled with the faint crackle of the torches. Every inch of this corridor breathes history, but not the rosy kind. Instead, it speaks of bloodlines steeped in hunger and alliances sealed in shadows. My vow thrums in my veins, reacting to the solemn hush. Why do I feel like they’re watching me, these paintings, judging me? But maybe it’s just the swirl of dread coursing through my chest.
As I move deeper, t
