"What did you say?!"
A booming voice reverberated through the dark chamber, shaking its very foundations.
The tall stone pillars quivered; spiderweb cracks spread across the tiled floor, and the faint light of the lanterns flickered, dimming as if afraid of the voice that filled the air.
Kneeling before the towering figure seated on the throne, a man trembled violently.
The soft sound of sweat dripping from his chin onto the cold floor echoed faintly, each drop amplifying the suffocating tension that filled the chamber.
He did not dare raise his head.
His breath came shallow and quick as he waited for the fury of the man seated on the throne to subside.
"Are you saying," the man on the throne growled, his voice seething with fury barely contained, "that the old dean has sided with him?"
"Yes, My Lord."
"Good. Good…" He repeated, each word laced with venomous anger and suppressed hatred.
