The grand throne room of the Eudorian palace was a place of heavy, suffocating silence and sudden, sharp arguments. Today, it was the latter. The air, usually cool was hot with the anger of the arguing men.
"It is impossible!" Lord Vance, an old man with a face like dried parchment, slammed his frail hand down on the heavy oak council table. "The Western Region would not dare move against Strathmore! They know the cost. They know how many lives were lost, how much blood was spilled, before a truce was finally reached!"
"He is right," another elder, Lord Greyson, agreed, his voice a low, practical rumble. "They are not fools. They remember the King's own brother, the great Duke Ellis Thompson, and the price he paid."
