The abandoned watchtower stood like a forgotten sentinel on the hillside, its weathered stones bearing witness to countless seasons of wind and rain. Once, it had served as an outpost for the Goldenvale family, a strategic point overlooking the trade routes that connected their territory to the wider continent.
Now it was little more than a relic, ignored by the new order that had swept away such antiquated concerns as territorial boundaries and family rivalries.
It was the perfect place for a conversation that should never happen.
Lysander arrived first, his footsteps echoing hollowly in the empty chamber as he climbed the spiral staircase to the tower's highest room.
The space was small and circular, with narrow windows that offered views in every direction. He could see for miles from here—the rolling hills that had once been contested ground, the roads that now carried peaceful commerce under Ethan's protection, the distant cities where order reigned supreme.
