Meanwhile back in the Castle right after the group traveled, Audrey Velthorne headed out.
The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the polished marble floors of the royal chambers. The night was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the hearth. But inside, tension hummed like a taut bowstring.
Audrey sat on the edge of the king's silk-draped bed, her hair cascading over her shoulders, her emerald eyes fixed intently on her husband. The king—a man more cautious than courageous—stood by the window, staring out into the vast, darkened city as if the night air held the answer to his dilemma.
"My love," Audrey murmured, her voice smooth as honey, "I think it's time you release Jaron."
The king stiffened, his fingers curling against the windowsill. He didn't turn to face her.
