After a hurried inspection of Tavitsky, Chris rode back to his temporary residence as fast as his horse could carry him.
In Tavitsky's former governor's residence, the council hall where Albert had died had lost all its lavish decorations to the fighting and the castle servants' looting before they fled. The hall was now starkly plain.
The smell of lime from freshly whitewashed walls filled the air, replacing the incense that had once perfumed the noble hall.
Chris sat alone at one end of the enormous oak table. Rather than taking the seat at its head, he had casually chosen one along the side, but to the attendants nearby, that casual posture only made him more intimidating.
Chris had changed out of his mud-covered riding clothes. He wore a dark, unadorned everyday outfit that made his face look even colder. His fingers unconsciously tapped the smooth tabletop, producing a soft, steady rhythm, like some silent countdown.
Guards silently pushed open the heavy oak doors.
Third Prince Edgar and Fifth Prince Lucas cautiously entered under the "escort" of two guards.
They still wore the robes provided by the Minicia court, slightly worn and reasonably respectable, but unbefitting their status as princes. They looked haggard, their eyes filled with barely concealed alarm and unease.
Their long years on the run had left unmistakable marks on them. Their steps were unsteady, as though beneath their feet lay not solid flooring but thin ice that might collapse at any moment.
The two elder brothers, strangers to Chris, spotted him at the far end of the table the moment they entered.
Their youngest brother, once an utterly unremarkable presence at court who had been sent far away as a hostage, now sat with his back straight and his gaze as sharp as a hawk's, radiating