Brandon walked through the palace corridors with hands in pockets, humming tunelessly to himself.
Polished obsidian walls. Purple-flame torches that cast everything in perpetual twilight. Carpets that absorbed sound. The kind of wealth that came from ruling an entire realm.
"Enjoyed your little show?"
He paused mid-step. Turned his head.
A girl leaned against the wall perhaps twenty feet away, positioned where she could observe without being immediately noticed. She'd been waiting for him. Watching.
Nineteen years old, maybe.
Black hair fell past her shoulders in loose waves that suggested she'd stopped caring about elaborate styling.
Her clothing was practical rather than decorative, fitted black pants, dark tunic with silver accents, everything designed for movement rather than court appearances.
