Far from the capital, deep inside the fortified borders of the Flint region, the main estate held a poisonous silence. Even the hanging lamps seemed afraid to flicker inside it.
The Patriarch himself stood at the head of a black marble table. He stared down at a glowing communication scroll while guild masters and commanders sat around him with lowered eyes.
"That absolute failure," he said while his calm voice carried more danger than a shout. "The King took my exiled son, gave him a noble title, and handed him the unowned region."
Since the Flint family had suffered a string of humiliating losses, no one answered. They had spent years lobbying for that territory to recover their fading prestige.
The King had ignored their petitions, then placed the land in the hands of the very trash the Flint family had thrown away.
The Patriarch pressed both hands against the table, and thin cracks spread beneath his fingers as his killing intent filled the chamber.
