Arlo
I couldn't stop pacing the length of my private chambers with my heavy silk sweeping against the cold stone floor. Three steps forward. Three steps back.
The rhythmic click of my boots was the only sound in the room, matching the sharp, agitated ticking in my mind.
My patience had officially run out.
Yesterday morning, I had taken a calculated risk. I sent a coded message that slipped through the kitchen servant network, addressed to both of them. Not just Elian. That pathetic court mage and his little accomplice, Lena. I had demanded the deployment schedules for Gunnar's Northern Legion. A simple test. A preliminary payment to prove they understood the rules of the high-stakes game we were playing.
But silence was what I got in return.
No schedules. Lena hadn’t filled a single
