KINGDOM OF VARKAIN
The iron-banded doors of the war room towered before Ingrid, their dark wood carved with the sigils of King Dagnar’s reign. She paused for a single breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed them open.
The murmur of voices cut off at once.
Beneath a canopy of hanging banners, King Dagnar loomed over the war table, one clawed hand gripping its edge. At his side, King Mordain reclined in his chair, blue eyes cold and assessing as they turned to her.
Ingrid crossed the threshold with measured steps. “My king,” she said, inclining her head as she took her place beside Dagnar.
Dagnar’s golden eyes narrowed. “You’d best have something useful,” he said coldly, “to barge in here like that.”
“I do,” she replied.
“Well?” King Mordain rumbled, folding his arms. “Out with it.”
