Third Person POV
The ride back to the Central encampment was silent.
Snow crunched beneath Ryzon’s boots as he entered the long stone hall reserved for the High Sovereign’s envoys.
Torches burned along the walls, their flames bending slightly with the draft creeping through the ancient corridors.
He removed his gloves slowly, jaw tight. The conversation with Andrea replayed in his mind.
Her calm defiance. Her refusal to promise obedience. Her eyes… steady and unafraid. It irritated him more than he cared to admit.
A guard opened the tall doors at the end of the hall.
“His Majesty King is waiting.”
Of course he was. His father did not like delays. Ryzon stepped inside.
The chamber was large but sparsely furnished, dominated by a long war table covered in maps of the surrounding
