Hamilton slowly peeked out from beneath the covers.
At first, all he saw was a shadow pooled near the bed, darkness bending around it in a shape that seemed to swallow the dim light of the room. It was terrifying in the way the unknown always was, wrong in a way that made even the air feel tense.
Then the shadow reached toward Aveline and rested a hand against her forehead, and something about it flickered. The darkness wavered as if it could no longer cling properly to the form beneath it.
Hamilton crouched lower at once and began scratching at Aveline with all four limbs, nudging, pawing, trying anything he could think of to rouse her.
But Aveline did not stir.
The shadow flickered again.
This time it shuddered violently, as though the darkness itself were being peeled away. And then, with a sudden blinding flare of light, the shape broke apart.
When the brightness settled, the figure standing by the bed was no longer a shadow at all.
It was a man.
The King.
