Kaelvryn remained within his private chamber long after the corridors had fallen silent.
The balcony doors stood open behind him, allowing the wind to move freely through the room, lifting the edges of paper upon his desk and stirring the heavy curtains that framed the stone arches.
He had not returned to the throne room after dismissing Valen neither did he sought Lucas or demanded further explanation from Aldridge.
Instead, he stood alone before the carved wooden desk that had belonged to his father, his hands rested flat against its surface, knuckles pale against dark oak.
Betrayal should have been simple, it should have ignited clean anger, righteous and direct.
Instead, what lingered within him felt tangled, his gaze drifted toward the lower drawer, he hesitated only briefly before pulling it open.
Inside, nestled against velvet lining worn with age, lay a dagger, its hilt bore no gemstones or gilded embellishments.
