Lord Merrick's POV
"I don't know any Harland," I said to the guard. "But if he traveled alone through this storm, he either has important business or he's insane. Either way, I should meet with him."
The guard nodded and led me through corridors to the main receiving room - a formal space I rarely used, reserved for visitors I didn't quite trust enough to welcome into my more intimate spaces.
The man standing in the center of the room looked like he'd been dragged through hell backwards.
He was young, with dark hair plastered to his skull, his clothes soaked completely through and dripping onto my expensive floors. His lips had a blue tinge, his whole body shook with violent shivers, and his eyes held the kind of desperate exhaustion that came from pushing far beyond reasonable limits.
He looked like he was about ten minutes from death by exposure.
