The world exploded into chaos.
Shouts erupted across the throne room. Nobles surged forward, their voices a cacophony of disbelief, excitement, and fear. The messenger was surrounded, peppered with a thousand frantic questions. The spectacle of Arin's execution was forgotten, replaced by a far grander, more shocking drama.
He is alive.
The words were a brand on her soul. Arin was barely aware of being hauled to her feet, of the guards' rough hands on her arms. Her mind was a roaring, white-hot inferno of a single, impossible thought.
Caldan is alive.
The grief she had worn like a second skin for weeks was incinerated in that single, brilliant flash of hope. It was a feeling so powerful, so overwhelming, it was a physical agony, a fist clenching around her heart so tight she couldn't breathe. He wasn't a ghost. He wasn't a memory. He was alive.
