The final destination loomed on the horizon: The Royal Capital.
The heart of the Empire.
The epicenter of all political maneuvering, assassination plots, and high-society venom.
They were no longer touring. They were marching to war.
Duke Kaelus von Nacht stood by the open carriage door. He wore his darkest, most imposing formal attire, a long coat of midnight-blue velvet layered over black mythril chainmail, a high collar framing his pale, flawless face.
Requiem hung heavy at his hip.
His violet eyes swept the courtyard, radiating a cold, untouchable, arrogant authority that commanded absolute silence.
Standing opposite him were Archduke Leonidas and Duchess Lysandra.
"Well, Kaelus," Leonidas sighed, his usual boisterous energy subdued, his arm wrapped tightly around his wife's waist. "I suppose this is it. You are about to march into the snake pit, and I can't do anything about it."
