Third-person POV
King Therion stood before the water mirror, his reflection staring back at him with the same stern eyes that had once intimidated entire kingdoms in the underworld.
Tonight, though, his gaze faltered, drawn not to his face but to his fingers. The tips were darker than before, spreading slowly like ink through parchment. He flexed his hand, watching the black crawl further, a reminder that his time was slipping away faster than he wanted to admit.
He already knew death was drawing close. What he did not know was how much longer he could keep it hidden. The kingdom of Vaelthar could not fall into the hands of those who would tear it apart the moment he was gone. He would not allow his enemies, or worse, his so-called allies, to tear down his legacy to pieces.
A knock echoed against the doors, and he didn't need to turn to know who it was. The scent of tainted roses entered before she did, as it always did.
