The dungeons beneath the palace were cold even by Nevareth standards, a deliberate choice in their construction. Stone walls wept with condensation that froze before it could drip, creating long icicles that hung like prison bars made of frost. The air tasted of metal and despair.
From deep within, voices echoed. Angry. Demanding. Entitled.
"Where is she?" Kael Ravencrest's voice carried through the corridors, bouncing off stone. "What has that fire bitch done with our sister?"
"We demand to speak with the Regent Empress!" Damon added, his tone pitched to intimidate. "This is an outrage! We have rights! We are nobility!"
They'd been making this noise for the better part of an hour, ever since the guards had separated them into individual cells. Shouting threats. Demanding answers. Acting as though their family name still carried weight, as though they weren't prisoners accused of kidnapping, torture, and human trafficking.
