"A crown does not sit on the strongest head, but the one that remembers how to laugh while carrying it."
Alaric's POV
The residual energy from the morning the complete, absolute merging of my Crestwood Law with Elias's Anchor was a heady, electric thing. It made my pulse feel godlike. The world was no longer a weight pressing down on me; it was a map spread open, every border and move visible, every opponent predictable. I was charged, centred, and, quite frankly, in a damn good mood. The last hour had been pure, productive brilliance. The Silverfang deployment was finally stabilized, the assassins inside the court had begun turning on one another like efficient little blades, and Silas had delivered what might be the most useful intelligence of the season: the truth of Riven Ashlock's bloodline. Ostel's son. A Genesis Mage's heir. Dangerous, yes, but containable.
