Robert Louis’ boots echoed against the floor of the fortress as he followed the young soldier through the corridor.
The air around him was filled with smoke thick with the tension of unseen eyes. Robert’s pulse thrummed in his ears and each step closer to Harold’s chamber was tightening the knot in his stomach, unsure of why he'd been summoned.
“What does he want this time?” The question gnawed at him. Had Harold discovered the plan? Or worse, Isabelle's betrayal?
As they rounded a corner, a hulking figure lurched into their path. The head warrior stood like a storm cloud blocking the sun. His beard was matted, his leather armor stained with ale and sweat. The reek of alcohol rolled off him in waves, mingling with the metallic tang of old blood. One eye of his milky and scarred, glared at Robert and the other burned with a hatred so raw which made the soldier beside him flinch.
“Where are you taking him?” The head warrior snarled, his voice sounded like a gravelly growl.