The silence in the council chamber was absolute, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of blood echoing from the severed neck of Lord Alaric.
The provincial lords, their faces pale and drawn, sat frozen in their seats, their eyes wide with a mixture of horror and morbid fascination.
The message was clear: the Ash Prince, the once-mocked drunkard, was no longer a figure to be trifled with. He had seized control of Caldris with an iron fist, and anyone who dared to challenge his authority would meet a swift and brutal end.
Kaelen's gaze swept across the faces of the assembled lords, his expression cold and impassive.
"Are my words understood?" he asked, his voice soft, almost a whisper, yet carrying a weight of authority that resonated through the chamber.
The lords, their fear overriding any lingering resentment, nodded their heads in unison, their voices a chorus of hushed assent.
