The whole kingdom woke to terror.
Street markets closed, the gates of the castle was sealed, and Royal Guards stood at every intersection.
Rumors moved faster than the wind.
The King exploded.
The North attacked us.
The heir of Oakhaven was sacrificed on the altar.
Above it all, on the high balcony of the palace, Cassian appeared.
He wore a high-collared military tunic, midnight blue and buttoned to the chin. The cracked platinum crown sat atop his silver hair, catching the dull morning light. A thick bandage was visible beneath the cloth of his left shoulder.
He didn't offer a grand oration. He didn't plead for calm. He simply looked down at the thousands gathered in the square and spoke with a voice amplified by the palace's own resonance sigils.
"Yesterday was not a failure of the throne," Cassian's voice calm. "It was an attempt against it. And I do not tolerate attempts."
