••{AZERIA'S POV}••
Darkholme has been anything but quiet since the massacre.
Every now and then, I hear the sound of boots against stone, the clink of metal, and the low murmur of voices as soldiers move through the castle.
It's a constant reminder that we're not safe, even within our own walls.
I sit on one of the cushioned chairs in the balcony outside my chambers, with a glass of bloodwine in my hand, staring out into the night.
I lift the glass to my lips and take a small sip.
The taste is rich and warm as it slides down my throat. But tonight, even bloodwine does little to settle me.
My thoughts keep drifting between too many things at once.
My brother lying in bed, wasting away with every passing hour.
Mother trying so hard to hold herself together that I fear she might break.
And then, the gathering of all the rulers of the empire in Darkholme.
My fingers slowly tighten around the glass so hard that it begins to crack before I force them to relax.
