Night fell slowly over Arven.
Lanterns began to light up one by one along the city streets, scattering golden dots through the growing fog that crept between the aristocratic buildings, taverns, markets, and stone bridges.
From afar, Arven seemed alive.
Calm.
Civilized.
As if nothing were wrong.
As if the city itself ignored that, that very night, blood would be spilled within one of the kingdom's most powerful families.
Inside Damon's mansion, however, the air had completely changed.
Now no one spoke loudly anymore.
The preparations were finished.
Only the execution remained.
The library clock struck shortly after ten when Cedric's last men arrived silently through the side entrances of the property.
Veterans.
Former soldiers of House Arven.
Men who seemed too tired for heroic speeches.
But still dangerous.
