The cold morning air bit at Damien's face as he stood atop the battlements of Blackmere's fortress, gazing out at the sprawling lands that had once been his unchallenged domain. His steel-gray eyes swept over the horizon, noting the patches of farmland, the small villages scattered like chess pieces, and the roads that connected them to the wider kingdom.
It was here, in Blackmere, that his power should have been absolute. Yet, in the year since he had returned to the past, it had become apparent that his authority was anything but secure. His past tyranny and the kingdom's broader unrest had weakened his hold, and the nobles he once commanded with an iron fist now saw him as vulnerable.
Amara approached quietly, her sharp blue eyes narrowing as she joined him on the battlements. "You've been out here for a while," she said. "What's on your mind this time?"