The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its warm glow illuminating the war room's stone walls. Damien sat at the table, his steel-gray eyes scanning the latest reports from Blackmere. Despite resolving the situation with Castor, unease lingered. The nobles' defiance wasn't just a regional problem—it was a symptom of the kingdom's deep fractures.
Amara entered the room quietly, her sharp blue eyes glinting in the firelight. She leaned against the table, watching Damien with an unreadable expression.
"You've been brooding again," she said, her voice cutting through the silence. "Care to share what's on your mind?"
Damien didn't look up. "The nobles are growing bolder. Castor was just the latest. They think I'm distracted, weak. They don't realize how close they are to pushing me too far."
Amara tilted her head, studying him. "You've changed, Damien. The old you wouldn't have let Castor walk away with his head still attached. What's holding you back?"