Neris paced the dimly lit chamber, his hands curling into fists, his mind a storm of unanswered questions. The firelight flickered against Mowenna's calm, yet weary, face.
"Mother," he began, voice low but urgent, "I understand… the prophecy. I understand that I carry the power of Borealis, that I might be the child Freyer foretold. But there's… something that still doesn't sit right."
Mowenna raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. "Go on."
"Azarion," Neris continued, frustration sharpening his words, "he agreed to marry Lyara. But if he knew of Freyer's prophecy… if he knows my bloodline is Borealis… then he must know Lyara is not of Borealis blood.
She is—she is something else. Why would he… end a betrothal to a southern woman and choose a northern one who had no relation to Borealis? What could he gain?"
