Back in the royal wing, the atmosphere was shifting from the adrenaline of the morning to a heavy, suffocating reality.
Kyle was led to a new suite of rooms—larger than the prince's room he had grown used to, but with windows that were barred with reinforced silver to make sure nothing passes and doors that only opened with a royal key. And a shared study with Alex's new room.
It was a palace, but it felt like a cage.
He sat on the edge of the large, four-poster bed, staring at the black silk of his sleeves.
The dark mage. The king's shadow.
It was a title that sounded grand, but Kyle knew what it really meant. He was the point of failure. He was the reason the kingdom was on the brink of a trade war.
A soft knock came at the door, and Lucas entered, carrying a heavy tray. The butler looked at Kyle with a gaze that was no longer just professional; it was pitying.
"Master Kyle," Lucas said, setting the tray down.
