Alderon's POV
The summons came at dawn.
Not the polite kind delivered by a steward with bowed head and careful words, but the unmistakable kind that carried the weight of command. Two royal guards stood outside my chamber doors, armor gleaming, expressions fixed and unreadable.
"His Majesty requests your presence in the throne room," one of them said.
Requests, from my father, were never requests.
I did not ask why.
I already knew.
The events of the night before clung to me like smoke I could not wash away—Elowen's fury, Maria's defiance, the way everything I had tried to keep contained had finally shattered. I dressed quickly, hands steady despite the storm raging beneath my skin, and followed the guards through corridors that felt longer than they ever had.
With every step, my resolve hardened.
I was done bending.
