Northern sat across the room from another young man about his own age, and even a stranger would have caught the resemblance. The rest was difference. Northern stood a head taller, while the other was leaner, his muscle trimmed close, his hair combed and groomed, his crimson eyes cold. And unlike Northern, he did not look like someone who had spent days underground without sleep. The grime of the forge pit still clung to Northern, and the shadows under his eyes had a bruised, settled look.
The young man kept his eyes fixed on Northern, and there was no warmth in them. The silence held for a few seconds. Then he spoke.
"There aren't many clans born with white hair. Name your family, and I'll reward them if you let me go."
Northern answered calmly.
"Reimgard."
The moment the word left his mouth, the prince's eyes went wide, and a pressure rolled off him and pushed against the room, his crimson gaze flaring with a killing edge.
