Valen walked briskly through the western passage, her boots striking the marble with controlled urgency. The tie between Lucas and Kaelvryn had eased the tension of the morning, but it had not quieted the warning coiled tightly in her chest.
Two guards stationed outside the King's solar straightened immediately when they saw her approach.
"I must speak with His Majesty," she said without preamble. "Privately."
One guard nodded and opened the door at once. Inside, Kaelvryn stood bent over a large table strewn with maps, sealed letters, and carved figurines marking troop placements around the capital.
The late sunlight traced the sharp planes of his face, catching faint shadows beneath his eyes that betrayed a fatigue he would never openly admit.
He did not look up immediately.
"You couldn't wait for me to breath?" he asked, sliding a marker across the map.
"I couldn't."
That made him pause, slowly, he raised his gaze.
"Speak."
