(Malakai POV)
The desert wind followed me all the way to Blackspire.
Even here, hundreds of leagues from the golden dunes, it clung to my cloak — warm, dry, carrying the faint scent of sun-baked sand and starbloom pollen. I rode at the head of a small caravan: six camels laden with sealed clay jars, silk-wrapped bundles, and woven baskets of rare herbs that had never before left the Southern Dunes.
I had come alone in spirit, though the guards and healers trailed behind me. This visit was not about kingdoms or treaties. It was about a child I had never met, a woman I had once hoped to claim, and a man I had once wanted to kill.
The gates opened before my camel's hooves touched the threshold.
The guards bowed — not deeply, but with genuine respect. One of them, a young wolf with silver threads already visible in his cloak, stepped forward.
"King Malakai. Welcome. She's resting in the upper solar. Lord Damien is expecting you."
