"In politics, the sharpest claws are often sheathed in velvet."
The room fell silent as Lord Darius swept into the council chamber. His presence was like a thunderstorm—cold, commanding, and impossible to ignore. Dressed in deep crimson robes embroidered with gold, he radiated an air of power and self-assurance that prickled against my senses. He bowed with calculated precision, just enough to respect the throne but not enough to convey submission.
“Your Majesties,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Thank you for allowing me to address the council today.”
Asher’s jaw tightened beside me. He didn’t like Darius—none of us did—but his influence had grown too significant to dismiss. The northern provinces were restless, and Darius, with his wealth, charm, and dangerously persuasive rhetor
