The North Wing of Valkoron Palace was quieter than the rest of the castle.
Even as the palace buzzed with servants preparing for the evening banquet—footsteps echoing in corridors, dishes clattering in kitchens, courtiers whispering over arrangements—this part of the palace remained solemn and still.
But the stillness did nothing to calm the storm currently walking through it.
King Valerian strode down the long marble corridor like a man marching toward battle.
Servants pressed themselves flat against the walls as he passed. None dared speak. Not even the most loyal attendants attempted a greeting.
The fury radiating from the king was enough to suffocate the air. Behind him, Prince Soren struggled to keep up with his brother's long strides.
"Valerian," Soren called after him, lengthening his pace. "Brother… perhaps you should slow down before you burst into Mother's chambers like a warlord storming an enemy fortress."
