He was a man who solved problems with a sword.
If there was an assassin, he cut them down.
If there was a corrupt noble, he seized their ledgers.
If there was a monster, he froze it solid.
But how could he protect her from an enemy he couldn't see, couldn't sense, and couldn't understand?
He was supposed to be the safest place in the world for her.
He had sworn a blood oath to shield her.
And yet, she had suffered right in front of him, and he had been reduced to a helpless, panicking bystander, whispering lullabies while she burned.
A sharp, authoritative knock at the heavy oak door broke the silence of the room.
"Enter," Kaelus commanded, his voice returning to its usual cold, commanding edge, though the raw emotional exhaustion was evident in the rough rasp of his throat.
The door opened to reveal a tense tableau.
Standing in the doorway was Sir Lucas, his scarred face a mask of concern.
