The palace corridors were quiet as Damien walked through them, his steel-gray eyes set with purpose. The recent discovery of Lord Hart's treachery had rattled the court, but Damien knew that one snake's exile did not mean the den of vipers was empty.
The council had become more cautious, but caution bred silence, and silence was dangerous. The nobles avoided Damien's gaze now, their whispers quieter, their alliances murkier. He had cut through their plans before, and they would not risk direct action again—not while Damien remained a looming shadow over their schemes.
As he entered the war room, Amara was already there, sharpening one of her daggers. She glanced up, her sharp blue eyes glinting in the dim light.
"Morning, Damien," she said with a faint smirk. "What's on the agenda today? More noble heads to roll?"
