Fenric's gaze sharpened, the faint smile never quite reaching his eyes. "And with all the privileges," he added, "come all the dangers. Every shadow hides a blade. Every courtesy hides a trap. The Dark Empress knows this… and so does her pet viper."
He rose, crossing to the window where the rain-specked glass reflected both him and the city below. "Kareth will already be moving. He's not here to 'assist.' He's here to sift through my streets like a scavenger—searching for something, anything, that can be tied to a third prince's mission. That's the proof he needs to brand me unfit."
Far below, under the slate-grey sky, Kareth stood atop the roof of an old stone granary, his crimson cloak snapping in the wind. From there, the sprawl of Lyria unfolded before him—market stalls clustered like barnacles, crooked alleys twisting into shadow, the spires of the old temples stabbing upward like accusations.
