Third Person's POV
"What happened after that, Falco? And why are you sighing like some wrinkled old man?"
The question, casual in tone, sent an involuntary tremor crawling up Falco's spine.
His thoughts involuntarily flashed to the image of that rotating black wheel, the suffocating mist, the devouring dark… He started shivering even though the room wasn't cold.
Laurel, the woman beside him, noticed that.
Her own face tightened in discomfort, and her lips parted as she tried to speak, perhaps to defuse the tension or to explain in his place.
"Your—"
"Did I ask you to speak, Laurel?"
The prince had turned his back again, his hands folded neatly behind him, as if staring once more at the moon beyond the window.
But his voice had the weight of a guillotine.
