Almost two weeks after the fall of House DeLambre, the news finally reached the Imperial Court of Akeria.
The skies over Asterthrone Keep were gray and heavy, pressing down on the gilded towers and wide stone avenues of the capital. Inside the throne hall, the court had gathered in uneasy silence. Rows of nobles in their fine robes stood alongside armored generals and wary stewards, all waiting for the messengers to speak.
The lead messenger stood before them, breathing hard. His leather brigandine was spattered with mud and sweat-stained at the collar, the steel studs dulled by the long ride. His face was thin and sunburned, with dark hollows beneath sharp eyes that flicked nervously around the hall. Dust clung to his short-cropped brown hair, and his lips were cracked from days without proper water.
The two riders behind him looked little better—gaunt, cloaked in road grime, gripping their travel-stained helms as though still bracing for another gallop.
