"A king may silence a council, outmaneuver an enemy, or cage a wolf, but he cannot cage blood that calls to him. Not when it howls through the marrow, demanding to be heard."
KING ALARICS POV
The stack of parchments before me looked endless. Petitions, trade requests, and grievances from the border towns piled higher than the inkpot at my elbow. The kingdom was never quiet, not even in the lulls between storms. Marcus sat across the table, his quill scratching steadily, jaw tight with focus as he sorted through another report of supply shortages. The room smelled of old parchment, ink, and faint iron from the weapons mounted on the walls. Here, in the king's office, there was no firelit warmth like in the Eastern Chamber, no laughter spilling from Elias's lips to soften the weight of my crown. Here, duty pressed against my shoulders until my bones ached.
