The castle walls were colder than usual that morning. Even with the hearth burning in the fireplace, a chill clung to the air. Part of the reason for the chilly weather was because of the last day's storm. The rogue king, Trevor, had sent out his men to see how much damage the storm had caused. The soil was already cursed and barely yielded food, and he was sure it was going to be worse after the storm.
Trevor paced around his corridors restlessly. His boots tapped faintly on the stone, his hands were locked behind his back. Something urged him to go outside, something he had not felt before and wasn't supposed to feel. That morning, he had woken before sunrise, his chest was heavy with a pressure he couldn't name, and right now, it had gotten more intense.
"No, it can't be." He muttered to himself, trying to shake off this feeling, blaming it on the endless worry that came from ruling a dying land.
