The marble floors reflected flames from golden sconces. Servants stood still. Guards at the door didn't blink.
King Ortiz Ortega was seated on his elevated throne, wearing his ceremonial pelt and crest. His aura? Absolute command.
Lisa Ortega was sitting at the side there, drinking from a golden cup and talking about her journey with excitement, oblivious to the fond sparkle within her father's eyes.
He listened.
Till the door interrupted.
A messenger knelt at his feet, bowing as he delivers the news.
“Your Grace… Haspan’s men invaded the outskirts of Trisden and the Southern Weave this morning. They’ve been forcing entry into homes—searching for a girl. No official permit. No warrant of reason.”
Ortiz’s eyes narrow, wolf-like.
“A girl?”
“Yes, sire. Descriptions say… young, cloake
