The moonlight filtered through the arched coral spires of the palace like molten silver, casting long, rippling shadows across the polished aquamarine floors.
Outside, bioluminescent leviathans drifted by in solemn procession, sentinels of a kingdom too deep for light, but not for treachery.
Thalassaria sat alone in her sanctum, a chamber carved into the living spine of an ancient sea-beast whose name had long been forgotten.
Her throne was quiet, regal, woven from translucent strands of abyssal pearl and woven kelp, but it may as well have been a blade's edge.
She sipped absentmindedly from a fluted goblet of deepwine, swirling the dark liquid as her gaze drifted to the rippling surface of the scrying pool.
The images had long faded: the battle above was over, and Caedrion yet lived.
That alone would have been enough to tempt fate.
