The sound of trumpets tore through the quiet of the night.
Aurelia's hand froze on the windowsill as she looked out into the vast courtyard below. Torches flickered against the fog, and in the distance, armored riders moved like shadows come alive. At their center rode a tall, unmistakable figure — straight-backed, dark-cloaked, the faint glint of silver on his pauldrons marking the royal crest.
King Malion had returned.
The banners bearing the golden sun of Nyxeria rippled as the gates opened. Servants rushed to bow. The guards, who had been lounging moments ago, suddenly looked like statues. Even the night itself seemed to straighten its spine.
