At last the chamber was empty.
Elaria sat with her palms flat on the chilly council table in the silence that followed the chaos. Rhovan's pronouncement of the tribunal, snarls, and accusations had reverberated through the same wood hours prior. Now it was only the sound of her own breathing, steadying, fighting not to fray.
The silence was a lie. Outside these gates, she sensed the factions developing—the whispered deals, the shifted allegiances, the murmuring. The council might sleep, but the game had already begun.
She was startled out of her reverie by a low moan. With his arms crossed tightly and his golden eyes blazing like banked embers, Draven was slumped against the distant wall. Even though his injured body was burning with heat, he had refused to leave her side. To the brink
