"Steel cuts through lies, but it is love that keeps the blade steady."
MARCUS POV
The morning in the Northern Kingdom was too bright for the kind of work Alaric had tasked me with. A clear, blue sky stretched over the spires of the castle, sunlight bouncing off the stone walls as if mocking the filth hidden inside them. Rot always stinks, even when it wears polished armor and calls itself a royal guard.
I rolled my shoulders as I tightened the leather straps of my vambrace, nodding to the men at the courtyard gates. Gavriel was already waiting, his arms folded, golden eyes watchful, as though he could see straight into the hearts of the guards milling around. Thorne, the wolf spirit bound to Elias's line, sharp-eyed and feral, sat at his side, tail flicking with barely contained irritation.
"Late," Gavriel said simply.
I snorted. "I'm not late. You are just annoyingly early. Do you even sleep, or does Rell keep you awake?"
