Draven.
"Is everything alright?" Meredith's voice was the first to break the silence.
I looked at her for a moment, then shifted my gaze to Dennis and Jeffery. "What I'm about to say doesn't leave this room."
The tone of my voice drew their attention instantly. They straightened—every trace of ease gone from their faces.
"Our King," I said quietly, "is ill."
Dennis's eyes widened slightly, and Jeffery's mouth parted as if to speak, but I cut him off before either of them could.
"No one—and I mean no one—can know this. Not the guards, not the servants, not even our people stationed across Duskmoor. The slightest rumour about his sickness could cause unrest back home. We can't afford that. Not now."
They nodded firmly.
Meredith's expression softened—understanding flickering in her violet eyes. "What happens now?"
I drew in a slow breath, straightened, and let my gaze pass across the room from Dennis to Jeffery and then to her.
"Now," I said, "we move."
