The Great Hall of the Sun-Throne was a masterpiece of intimidation. Gold leafed the pillars, and the floor was made of polished obsidian that reflected the flickering torches like a sea of black oil. Normally, the hall felt like a furnace, but today, as the massive ironwood doors were thrown open, a wave of unnatural cold swept through the room.
Kassian sat on his throne, his black military uniform buttoned to the chin, his cape of lion-furs draped over one shoulder. He looked every bit the Red Tyrant—cold, unmoving, and dangerous.
Beside him, standing on the lower dais, was Vera.
She was dressed in a gown of deep charcoal silk, high-necked and elegant, designed to hide the silver mark on her throat. She looked like a royal consultant, a dignified guest of the crown. But beneath the silk, her skin was humming. The Heart of Boreas was thrumming a frantic rhythm, a warning that the man who had haunted her dream was now physically present.
