The chill of early morning settled over Winter's Crown, a thin veil of frost coating the palace's stone walls. The reforms, though enacted, had become a lightning rod for discontent. Noble families whispered in hidden corners, merchants questioned the changes, and even the city's guards seemed to tread carefully.
Damien strode through the halls of the palace, his steel-gray eyes fixed ahead. The victory over the rebellion had been hard-won, but it had left him with no illusions. The kingdom was still fragile, and the whispers of dissent had not been silenced.
Amara met him at the entrance to the war room, her sharp blue eyes flashing with irritation. "You're going to want to hear this," she said, motioning him inside.
Carys was already waiting, her green eyes scanning a stack of reports spread across the table. She looked up as Damien entered, her expression grim.
"What is it?" Damien asked, his voice steady.
