Dawn had barely broken when the screaming began. A young maid dropped the basket of freshly laundered linens she had been carrying the moment she crossed the threshold and saw the gruesome scene awaiting her inside. The neatly folded sheets scattered across the floor as the basket slipped from her trembling fingers. Her scream tore through the quiet morning air, shrill and horrified, echoing through the halls like a warning bell.
Within moments, guards came rushing toward the chambers, swords half-drawn. But the instant they entered the room, they froze.
Azul lay sprawled across his bed in a pool of his own blood. His throat had been viciously slit, the wound so deep that crimson soaked through the sheets beneath him. A savage cut had also been carved across his face, mutilating the features that had once been so familiar to them all. The metallic scent of blood hung thick in the air.
Even for men accustomed to violence, it was a horrifying sight.
