The air in Winter's Crown was unnaturally still. The city's bustling streets had emptied as the sun set, leaving an eerie quiet that stretched from the palace walls to the docks. The rumors of reinforcements from the north had spread quickly, and while many dismissed them as baseless whispers, Damien knew better.
Standing on the palace ramparts, his steel-gray eyes scanned the horizon, searching for signs of movement. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the cool steel a comforting weight. Beside him, Carys leaned against the battlements, her crossbow slung over her shoulder.
"They'll wait until the darkest hour," Carys said, her green eyes scanning the northern road. "If they're coming, it'll be when the city's at its most vulnerable."
"They'll come," Damien replied, his voice steady. "Farrin's allies are desperate. This is their last chance to regain control."
