Lines Drawn
The great hall glowed with torchlight and low murmurs as nobles gathered beneath banners the color of bruised twilight. Trestle tables laden with spiced venison and winter fruits lined the sides, but the center was reserved for the Midwinter Convocation—the kingdom's highest forum. Vera Lanst paused at the entrance, breath catching beneath her silver fur. Today, alliances would be forged or broken; every word she spoke mattered.
A herald's horn sounded. The murmurs hushed. Two guards in wolf-skin pelts swung open the double doors. Vera stepped forward, every eye turning to her. Baroness Merrow and several Grayrock loyalists formed a discreet semicircle at the back. On her right stood Baron Belwright, chin lifted, fingers tapping a carved wood cane. To her left, General Sarkan
