The bell continued to ring.
A heavy sound that vibrated through the stone floors of the royal wing.
It sounded lonely somehow.
The King was gone.
The transition from a quiet coma to a cold finality had happened in the span of a single heartbeat, and the air in the hallway felt like it was thickening with the sudden weight of it all.
Kyle stood paralyzed near Lyla's door, his wrists still hurting from Lucian's grip.
The threat Lucian had whispered—the promise of something at the ball—felt strangely distant now, compared to the sound of the mourning bell.
He looked at Lucas, expecting to see the butler's usual composure, but the man looked as if he had been turned to salt.
Alex, however, was a different story. He stood in the center of the hallway, a pillar of ice. He didn't look at the tower where the bell was ringing. He didn't look at the door where he stood or Lucas.
He looked only at Kyle, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"Back to the study."
