Nikolai had arrived just in time to see the last of the crowd dispersing, the rain still pounding as though the heavens were mocking him. His boots were heavy with water, and yet the storm inside him was heavier. The coachman had nearly lost control of the horses getting them through the muddy path, but Nikolai hadn't cared. His mind burned only with the knowledge that everything had gone wrong, again.
Everything! It was on his arrival that he heard of the Contest's outcome. Nothing he had planned had worked out.
"Where is he? Where is my son?!" Nikolai barked, veins popping out from the corner of his neck.
The servant who had carried Gerald out of the hall earlier pointed at one of the carriages which was set to leave soon.
"But Lord Niko—"
"Move!" Nikolai snapped, his voice like thunder breaking through the rain. The servant startled but obeyed, hurrying toward the carriage to open the door.
