"Is she dead?" Vyrelen, the Nightweaver Tharros had sent to deliver his message to the Kings and Queens, asked as Tharros walked into his chamber.
Tharros shot him a sharp glance. "You know, there's this thing called privacy, Vyrelen. You should try it sometime."
Vyrelen snorted and nodded his head but didn't back down. "You still haven't answered my question, my Emperor."
Tharros sighed, pulling off his blood-stained shirt, the blood of Nyxoria had stained it.
"She's not dead," he muttered, tossing the shirt aside. "Satisfied now?"
Vyrelen shrugged casually.
"I thought you'd kill her the moment you brought her here."
Tharros shot him a dark glare, his eyes burning with fury. "You don't tell me what to do, Vyrelen."
Vyrelen immediately bowed his head in submission, a flicker of fear crossing his face. "I'm sorry, my Emperor. I was just… concerned. You remember what she did to our people. I lost my people that night. She betrayed all of us, especially you."
