ISKERA
By the time the driver pulls into the royal lot—an exclusive stretch of marble reserved only for the King and his bloodline—my eyes are darting frantically through the window.
By the gods! I scream in my head, taking in the sights greedily. The mansion isn't only a mere house; it's a monument to power, a sprawling fortress of stone and glass that seems to breathe with its own ancient authority. Maybe, because it has housed Alpha Kings for more than five generations.
Staff members dressed in sharp charcoal and silver livery hurry back and forth like a specialized army. Some carry silver trays that reflect the moonlight, others move with crystal decanters of deep red wine, their movements harried and hurried, yet looking meshy all the same.
"If you keep looking at things like that, like a naive fellow, you will spoil the game before it even starts."
Vane's voice is a bucket of ice water.
