KODA'S POV
I walked through the palace corridors like a ghost. My legs moved on their own, carrying me past drapes and stone archways that blurred together. The servants who saw me coming stepped aside without a word, their eyes averted. Maybe they could sense something in my expression. Maybe they could smell the weight of what I'd just heard.
Kill my father.
The words echoed in my head with each footstep. Grandfather's voice, calm and measured, explaining it like a military strategy. Like moving pieces on a board. But this wasn't a game. This was my father. The man who taught me to ride. Who stayed up with me when nightmares about my mother's death kept me awake. Who kissed my forehead when I was sick right before his own grief consumed him whole.
The same man who was systematically murdering young women to send a message to the world.
