Derek stood alone in the center of the room.
He looked at the dead girl on the floor. He looked at the weeping mother who was still cursing his name. He looked at the overturned tables.
He felt a cold, dark rage settle in his heart. It wasn't the hot fire of battle. It was the freezing cold of absolute destruction.
He turned to Ian, who had just arrived. Ian looked horrified. He had seen Marissa being led away.
"Your Grace..." Ian started.
Derek raised a hand. Silence.
"Find out who wore that dress," Derek ordered. His voice was deathly quiet. It was a whisper that carried more threat than a scream. "Find out who was here. Find out who looked like her."
He looked at the door where Marissa had vanished.
"Tear this city apart if you have to," Derek said. "Check every dressmaker. Check every wig shop. Check every inn."
He turned his gaze back to Ian. His eyes were empty of humanity.
"And send word to the barracks," Derek said.
Ian's eyes widened. "The barracks? The army?"
