The royal palace's corridors were suffocatingly quiet, but beneath the surface, the air vibrated with the frantic energy of an active imperial investigation. Guards stood at rigid attention at every intersecting hallway, their heavy silver armor gleaming beneath the sunlight, while servants hurried past in hushed whispers.
Walking through the heart of this tension was Philia.
To any passing noble or guard, he looked the picture of calm, a beacon of pure comfort in the wake of a horrific royal tragedy.
Inside, however, Philia was entirely consumed by a rage.
He was deeply displeased. He had just come from Iryna's chamber, hoping to gather a shred of useful information, but he had walked away entirely empty-handed. The Northern faction was still walking around freely, and Iryna was inexplicably alive and recovering.
But what infuriated Philia the most was Yerel's behavior.
