By midday, the courtyard had been scrubbed clean of the blood, though the scent of it still clung to the air like a ghost.
Elinora wasn’t allowed back to the North Tower this time. Instead, Riven led her straight into the main hall — a place that still felt like stepping into the jaws of a beast. Black pillars veined with silver loomed on either side, their surfaces polished to a mirror shine. The long banners of the Drayke crest hung from the ceiling, their fabric stirring faintly in the cold draft.
The court was already gathered. The elders sat at the high table, their expressions unreadable. Warriors and advisors filled the lower benches, their voices low but urgent. She could feel their eyes on her — a weight she carried from the moment she stepped through the doors.
The murmur of v
