Outside the chamber, the emergency bells rang once more.
The war had not yet begun.
But from the moment the Grand Duchess lay bleeding, from the moment the Grand Duke lost control destruction had officially begun.
The delegation arrived in the North while the sky was still wrapped in gray clouds and the smell of smoke had not yet fully faded from the air. The horses halted before the gates of Castle Zelthar, now guarded in multiple layers spears and swords gleaming beneath the cold morning light. Clan banners fluttered tensely, as if they too could feel the unease that weighed over the territory.
Marchioness Albertch was the first to step down from the carriage. Her face remained composed too composed yet the slight tremor in her hand as she gripped her cloak betrayed the worry she could not entirely conceal. Her hair was pinned neatly, as befitted a great noblewoman, but her eyes swept over the castle with the fear of a mother.
