Soren felt his stomach tighten. House Lanther had lost their heir during the expedition, Edric, cut down while fleeing. To face his brother in the tournament's opening round carried unmistakable political significance.
"Lord Lanther will view it as an insult," he said carefully.
"Precisely." Veyr's fingers tapped against the map, a rhythm that matched his accelerating thoughts. "He believes you somehow cursed or marked, spared by Sylas while his son died. This match forces a public reckoning. Defeat his remaining son in honorable combat, and you begin to rewrite the narrative. Lose..."
He left the consequence unspoken, though its shape loomed between them like a shadow.
"The other houses have been preparing for months," Soren pointed out. "I've had three weeks since returning from—"
