The throne room echoed with the primal scream of a father watching his child die. Lord Grayson, held back by two guards, thrashed against their grip, his eyes bulging as he watched the sword pierce his daughter's chest.
"Jane! No!" he wailed, his voice cracking. "My child!"
Brooke, Liam's silent shadow, stepped forward. He signaled the guards with a sharp flick of his wrist. "Take him away. To the dungeon."
The guards dragged the sobbing, broken lord from the room, his screams fading down the long corridor until only silence remained.
King Alistair stood by his throne, his face pale and drawn. He looked at his son, at the blood spreading on the marble floor. He sighed, a sound of deep, weary resignation.
"Why does he have to take matters into his own hands like this?" the King thought, rubbing his temple. "Why this brutality? Why here?"
But he said nothing to Liam.
"Court dismissed," the King announced, his voice hollow.
