The raging inferno in the Crown Prince's palace at last flickered out, leaving behind tendrils of acrid smoke and the suffocating stench of charred timber.
The damage assessment was grim. The storerooms and two wing halls lay in ruins.
The steward rushed in, his voice hushed.
"Your Highness, we found traces of oil and kindling beneath the courtyard wall. This was arson."
Alistair's eyes blazed with fury, his fists clenching inside his sleeves.
"Leave no stone unturned."
Clarice clung to his arm, her face pale. Gently tugging his sleeve, she whispered,
"Please, let us drop this, for everyone's sake. It must be someone opposed to our union. I could not bear to see you troubled over me."
Her fragile demeanor, so reminiscent of that nightmare fire from his past, stoked his rage hotter.
