Seventy
The castle felt colder as Callen walked through its grand halls, his boots soft against stone. Light spilled in through high arched windows, catching on banners and gold filigree, but none of it touched the chill sitting under his skin. His brother’s words from the day before clung to him. We have people in this kingdom who will die if the shifters make it to our shores. Villages. Families. Children. It echoed, again and again, as if Christian’s warning had lodged in his ribs and refused to fade. Callen pushed open the door to his private chambers. The familiar sight of the room met him but tonight it felt like someone else’s life. The fire crackled in the hearth. A decanter of wine sat untouched on the side table. None of it eased the tightness in his chest. His thoughts drifted, as
- Writer
