We were back inside the Emperor's private study. The soft hiss of the tea kettle filled the silence between us, steam curling in the lamplight. He poured without asking, sliding the delicate cup toward me.
We sat like that for a while, sipping. No talk of strategy, no speeches about destiny, just the faint clink of the cups and the warmth of the drink in my hands.
The knock on the door broke the stillness.
"Enter," the Emperor said.
Cassian Dorey stepped in. The General of the entire Imperial Army didn't need an introduction, not to me. We'd fought side by side with the Holts in the capital. I'd seen him tear through a dozen enemies with movements so heavy and precise they felt like watching an avalanche in motion.
The man looked the same as ever, old, yes, but in the way a mountain was old. Built from the ground up, all muscle under his uniform, his presence pressing into the room like extra gravity.
"Your Majesty," he said with a short nod before glancing at me. "Ironhart."
