The corridors of the Imperial Palace were completely silent at two o'clock in the morning.
Aeron and Kaia walked side-by-side, their footsteps muffled by the thick, crimson carpets of the ministerial wing. Lady Elara walked a few paces ahead, a shadow slipping through the dark, while Captain Silas Thorne and four elite guards marched behind them.
Silas's face was carved from granite. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, his knuckles white.
Aeron stopped walking just before they reached the heavy mahogany doors of Baron Ryland Thorne's private palace apartments.
He turned to the massive Captain of the Guard.
"Silas," Aeron said softly, his voice a low rumble in the dim torchlight. "He is your uncle. Your father's brother. If you wish to step back and let another man make this arrest, you may do so with no stain on your honor."
Silas didn't hesitate. His amber eyes were cold, filled with a decades-old pain that had finally calcified into iron.
