Morning light filtered through the towering stained-glass windows of Valendale's palace, casting streaks of gold and red across the war table.
Prince Rayne sat in his private study, half-dressed in his military tunic, leather bracers unfastened as he sifted through diplomatic reports from his father's council. His tea remained untouched, cooling beside the stacks of parchment.
The usual concerns filled the documents—trade negotiations, border disputes, whispers of unrest. Nothing unexpected.
A knock at the door broke the quiet.
One of his attendants entered, bowing briefly before holding out a sealed letter—golden wax, pressed with Elysia's royal crest.
Rayne accepted it, his fingers brushing over the familiar emblem. Viana.
His expression didn't change as he broke the seal, unfolding the parchment with practical ease. But as his eyes scanned the inked words, his posture shifted.
Prince Arin. Shadow Clan. Slave routes disguised as trade shipments.
His jaw tightened.
