The atmosphere in Winter's Crown was uneasy, a simmering tension that stretched across the kingdom like a taut wire. Though Lord Greves had been exposed as a conspirator, his exile had done little to calm the people. The reforms, though necessary, were sowing seeds of discontent among the nobles, who whispered of rebellion in the shadows.
Damien stood in the palace war room, his steel-gray eyes fixed on the map spread across the table. The room was silent save for the faint crackle of the hearth. Amara leaned against a nearby wall, her sharp blue eyes watching him intently. Carys paced the length of the room, her green eyes filled with concern.
"We've cut down two major branches of this rebellion—Vale and Veylin," Carys said, breaking the silence. "But the roots are still there, deep in the court. They won't stop until they've undermined everything we're trying to build."
