We were waiting for Morgana’s response, but before a name could leave her lips, the door to Lucian’s office creaked open.
Alaric entered, flanked by two guards, stumbling as though every step took a monumental effort. I barely recognized him.
His face was swollen, covered in bruises. A gash split his right eyebrow, and his lower lip was mangled. His arms hung limply at his sides, his wrists marked with fresh cuts, likely from being bound too tightly. He was limping, dragging one leg that could barely hold him up. The man before us was a shadow of the warrior I’d once known, a haunting image of someone who had endured the worst horrors imaginable.
“What is this?” Lucian demanded, his tone sharp and cutting. He stepped toward Morgana but couldn’t tear his gaze away from Alaric, who could
