Back at the capital of Zura at the royal council chamber, the air reeked of fear. The air itself felt heavy, thick with incense and the metallic tang of anxiety.
King Roman sat at the head of the oak table inlaid with black marble, his knuckles white against the carved lion heads of his armrest. Around him, his ministers and generals shifted uneasily, their silks whispering like frightened birds.
Maps lay sprawled across the table — ink-stained reminders of a campaign that had gone horribly wrong. Red markings bled across the seas where the Zuran fleet had once reigned supreme. Now, those same waters were graveyards of splintered masts and drifting corpses.
"Three ships escaped," said one admiral, his voice trembling. "All others are lost, Your Majesty. The flagship was taken, the admiral captured. We… we believe the Estalians have salvaged the command ship along with others that sank in the Azul Bay."
