I could feel the biting spray of the northern sea slashing across my face like a dozen tiny whips. The wooden deck of the Leviathan pitched violently beneath my bare, bleeding feet, tilting toward the black, churning abyss of the ocean. The storm was the worst we had seen in months, a monstrous wall of wind and ice that threatened to swallow the entire naval fleet whole.
But to the men who ruled this floating fortress, my terror was nothing more than an evening’s amusement.
I was just the orphan deckhand. The boy who washed the blood from the oak planks after a battle. The boy who ate the moldy hardtack left behind by the gunners. To Captain Vance, the ruthless commander of the flagship, I was less than human. He stood under the glowing iron lanterns of the quarterdeck, wrapped in thick bear furs and polished silver armor, holding a heavy leather whip in his scarred hand.
“Look at this pathetic little rat!” Vance bellowed, his voice carrying over the roaring wind. The crew of over a hundred rough sailors, hardened by years of naval warfare, gathered around in a tight circle, their faces twisted with cruel amusement. “The storm demands a sacrifice to keep our sails tearing through the dark, and yet this lazy piece of filth cannot even carry a bucket of tar without shaking!”
“Please, Captain,” I whispered, my voice cracking from the freezing air. My hands were raw and blue from scrubbing the freezing deck in the middle of the winter squall. “I haven’t slept in three days. The fever… it burns my chest.”
“Then let the sea air cool your blood, boy!” Vance roared.
He stepped forward and swung his heavy boot directly into my ribs. The impact knocked the breath completely out of my lungs, and I collapsed onto the freezing, wet wood, gasping for air. The sailors laughed, spitting onto the deck near my head. They loved seeing someone lower than themselves suffer. In this ocean-based warlord society, weakness was a sin punishable by death.
Vance grabbed me by my thin, tattered collar and dragged me toward the center of the deck, right before the heavy iron-reinforced doors of the grand cabin.
“Get up!” he snarled, slamming me down onto my knees. “We have a guest tonight, boy. A man who demands absolute perfection aboard any vessel bearing the Great Seal of the Sea Throne. If you cannot stand tall, I will let the waves have you before midnight.”
The heavy doors of the grand cabin swung open. Out stepped Grand Admiral Kaelen, the absolute ruler of the naval kingdom’s eastern armada. He was an older man, his hair white as seafoam, his chest covered in gold medallions and the heavy, dark velvet cloak of the High King’s inner circle. His eyes were cold, sharp, and exhausted from years of commanding thousands of warships across the world.
Captain Vance immediately bowed, his arrogant voice turning entirely sycophantic. “Grand Admiral! I apologize for the disturbance. I am simply teaching this worthless stray a lesson in discipline before we reach the northern harbor.”
The Grand Admiral looked down at me, his face showing no emotion. To him, I was just another faceless peasant boy destined to die at sea.
“He is weak, Vance,” the Admiral said coldly, his voice deep and commanding. “The Sea Throne has no use for fragile boys. Give him twenty lashes and throw him into the cargo hold cage.”
“With pleasure, sir,” Vance smiled, a sadistic glint in his eyes. He reached down, grabbing my thin canvas shirt, and violently ripped it away from my shoulders to expose my bare back to the biting blizzard.
The fabric tore open with a sharp rip.
The wind howled, and the bright, flickering light of a nearby storm lantern swung directly over my head, casting a harsh glare across my shoulders and neck.
Grand Admiral Kaelen took one step forward to return to his cabin, but his boots suddenly stopped dead on the wet wood.
His eyes locked onto the back of my neck.
The cold, indifferent expression on the Admiral’s face completely shattered. His mouth opened slightly, his face turning an ash-white color that matched the freezing snow falling around us. He froze, his entire body trembling so violently that the heavy gold medallions on his chest began to clink together.
“Captain,” the Admiral whispered, his voice suddenly completely stripped of its power. “Hold your hand.”
Vance paused, the leather whip raised high in the air, a confused look crossing his face. “Sir? The boy deserves the punishment. He is nothing but a nameless orphan from the southern docks.”
The Grand Admiral didn’t listen to Vance. He slowly walked down the wooden steps, his heavy boots clicking softly against the deck. The entire crew fell into a dead, terrified silence. Nobody had ever seen the Grand Admiral look like this. He looked as if he had just seen a ghost rise from the black depths of the ocean.
He reached out with a trembling, scarred hand, his fingers brushing against the skin right below my left ear, where a thick, distinct, perfectly circular burn scar was shaped like a roaring sea dragon—the forbidden mark of the lost Imperial Fleet.
The Admiral dropped his iron goblet, the red wine spilling across the wet deck like blood, and the entire crew held their breath.
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FULL STORY CHAPTER 1
I could feel the biting spray of the northern sea slashing across my face like a dozen tiny whips. The wooden deck of the Leviathan pitched violently beneath my bare, bleeding feet, tilting toward the black, churning abyss of the ocean. The storm was the worst we had seen in months, a monstrous wall of wind and ice that threatened to swallow the entire naval fleet whole. The sky was an unforgiving sheet of midnight iron, broken only by the jagged, terrifying flashes of lightning that illuminated the massive, black-sailed warships sailing in our formation.
But to the men who ruled this floating fortress, my terror was nothing more than an evening’s amusement.
I was just the orphan deckhand. The boy who washed the blood from the oak planks after a battle. The boy who ate the moldy hardtack left behind by the gunners, competing with the rats for the scraps of dried meat that fell into the dark corners of the bilge. To Captain Vance, the ruthless commander of the flagship, I was less than human. He stood under the glowing iron lanterns of the quarterdeck, wrapped in thick bear furs and polished silver armor, holding a heavy leather whip in his scarred hand. His face was weathered from decades of cruelty and sea salt, a jagged scar running from his jaw down to his collarbone, a reminder of the many men he had broken to secure his absolute authority on this ship.
“Look at this pathetic little rat!” Vance bellowed, his voice carrying over the roaring wind and the creaking of the massive wooden timbers. The crew of over a hundred rough sailors, hardened by years of naval warfare and brutal coastal raids, gathered around in a tight circle. Their faces were twisted with cruel amusement, their teeth bared in mocking smiles as they leaned against the thick ropes and iron cannons, eager for a distraction from the freezing weather. “The storm demands a sacrifice to keep our sails tearing through the dark, and yet this lazy piece of filth cannot even carry a bucket of tar without shaking like a dying dog!”
“Please, Captain,” I whispered, my voice cracking from the freezing air and the salt water that constantly filled my mouth. My hands were raw, bleeding, and turned a sickly shade of blue from scrubbing the freezing deck in the middle of the winter squall. “I haven’t slept in three days. The fever… it burns my chest. I can barely stand.”
“Then let the sea air cool your blood, boy!” Vance roared, his laughter booming louder than the thunder crashing overhead.
He stepped forward and swung his heavy, iron-toed boot directly into my ribs. The impact knocked the breath completely out of my lungs, a sharp, white-hot pain exploding through my torso as I heard a sickening crack. I collapsed onto the freezing, wet wood, gasping for air, my face pressed against the icy salt water that pooled on the deck. The sailors laughed louder, spitting their foul tobacco onto the deck right near my head. They loved seeing someone lower than themselves suffer. In this ocean-based warlord society, where only the strongest survived and the weak were used as bait or slave labor, my suffering was their entertainment.
Vance grabbed me by my thin, tattered collar, lifting my small frame effortlessly, and dragged me across the rough wood toward the center of the deck, right before the heavy, brass-reinforced oak doors of the grand cabin. My bare knees scraped against the splinters, leaving a faint trail of blood that was instantly washed away by the pouring rain.
“Get up!” he snarled, slamming me down onto my knees with bone-shattering force. “We have a guest tonight, boy. A man who demands absolute perfection aboard any vessel bearing the Great Seal of the Sea Throne. If you cannot stand tall and do your duty, I will personally tie an iron anchor to your ankles and let the waves have you before midnight.”
The heavy doors of the grand cabin swung open, casting a warm, golden glow of candlelight across the dark, wet deck. Out stepped Grand Admiral Kaelen, the absolute ruler of the naval kingdom’s eastern armada. He was a legendary figure throughout the sea empire, an older man whose hair was as white as seafoam, his chest covered in heavy gold medallions, intricate silver crests, and the deep, dark velvet cloak of the High King’s inner circle. His eyes were cold, sharp, and exhausted from years of commanding thousands of warships and deciding the fates of entire coastal nations. He carried himself with an aura of absolute power, the kind of man who could order the execution of an entire crew with a simple wave of his hand.
Captain Vance immediately bowed low, his arrogant, booming voice instantly turning into a sniveling, sycophantic whine. “Grand Admiral Kaelen! I apologize deeply for the disturbance on the deck. I am simply teaching this worthless stray a lesson in discipline before we reach the northern harbor. He has been lazy, inefficient, and a stain on the pride of this vessel.”
The Grand Admiral looked down at me from the raised platform, his face showing absolutely no emotion. To him, I was just another faceless peasant boy, a nameless piece of property destined to die of disease or be thrown overboard during a skirmish.
“He is weak, Vance,” the Admiral said coldly, his voice deep, smooth, and commanding, cutting through the howling wind with terrifying ease. “The Sea Throne has no use for fragile boys who cry in the face of a storm. Give him twenty lashes to harden his skin, and then throw him into the cargo hold cage with the rest of the slaves.”
“With maximum pleasure, sir,” Vance smiled, a sadistic, twisted glint appearing in his dark eyes. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand grabbing my thin, wet canvas shirt, and violently ripped it away from my shoulders to expose my bare, shivering back to the biting blizzard.
The fabric tore open with a sharp, echoing rip that seemed to cut through the noise of the storm.
The wind howled fiercely, and a sudden, violent lurch of the ship caused the heavy, iron storm lantern hanging from the main mast to swing wildly. The bright, flickering yellow light swung directly over my head, casting a harsh, revealing glare across my bare shoulders and the back of my neck.
Grand Admiral Kaelen took one step forward, intending to return to the warmth of his grand cabin, but his heavy leather boots suddenly stopped dead on the wet wood.
His eyes locked onto the back of my neck.
The cold, indifferent, majestic expression on the Admiral’s face completely shattered in an instant. His mouth opened slightly, his jaw going slack as his face turned a pale, sickly ash-white color that matched the freezing snow falling around us. He froze completely, his entire body beginning to tremble so violently that the heavy gold medallions and merit seals on his chest began to clink together like dying bells.
“Captain,” the Admiral whispered, his voice suddenly completely stripped of its commanding power, reduced to a hollow, breathless gasp. “Hold your hand.”
Vance paused, the heavy leather whip raised high in the air, ready to strike my skin. A confused, completely bewildered look crossed his face as he looked from me to the Admiral. “Sir? The boy deserves the punishment. He is nothing but a nameless orphan we pulled from the southern docks two years ago. He has no family, no name, and no value to the fleet.”
The Grand Admiral didn’t listen to a single word Vance said. He slowly, unsteadily walked down the wooden steps of the quarterdeck, his heavy boots clicking softly against the wet planks. The entire crew, noticing the sudden terror in their leader’s eyes, fell into a dead, terrified silence. The mocking laughter died instantly. The only sound left was the roaring of the ocean and the whistling of the wind through the rigging. Nobody had ever seen the Grand Admiral look like this. He looked as if he had just seen a ghost rise from the black depths of the ocean floor, or as if the sea itself was about to split wide open to consume him.
He reached out with a trembling, scarred hand, his fingers shaking so badly he could barely control them. He brushed his fingertips against the cold skin right below my left ear, where a thick, distinct, perfectly circular burn scar was prominently displayed. It wasn’t an ordinary injury. It was an intricate, raised mark shaped like a roaring sea dragon wrapped around a broken anchor—the ancient, forbidden mark of the lost Imperial Fleet, a symbol that had been brutally erased from the kingdom twenty years ago.
The Admiral dropped his heavy iron goblet, the rich red wine spilling across the wet deck like a pool of fresh blood, and the entire crew held their breath as he sank to his knees in the freezing water right before me.
“Dear gods…” Kaelen breathed, his eyes wide with a mixture of profound terror and absolute reverence. “It cannot be.”
Captain Vance stepped forward, his face tightening with anxiety, his whip lowering slightly. “Admiral? What is the meaning of this? It’s just an old brand. The boy was likely marked by a common slave trader or a deserting pirate before we found him.”
The Admiral slowly turned his head toward Vance, and for the first time, I saw true, unchecked fury in the old leader’s eyes. “Shut your mouth, Vance. Before I have your tongue ripped from your throat and fed to the sharks.”
The captain instantly froze, his face turning pale as he took a step back. The sailors around us began to whisper, their eyes darting between my shivering, broken body and the powerful Admiral who was now kneeling in the grime of the deck, looking at me as if I were a holy relic.
“What is your name, boy?” the Admiral asked, his voice incredibly soft, a sharp contrast to the harsh storm raging around us. He reached into his heavy velvet cloak and pulled out a clean, warm woolen cloth, gently wrapping it around my freezing shoulders, covering the very wounds Captain Vance had just inflicted.
I looked into his eyes, my body shaking from both the freezing cold and the sheer confusion of the moment. I had kept this secret hidden for as long as I could remember, told by my dying mother never to speak the true words, never to let anyone see the mark, and never to reveal the blood that ran through my veins. But looking at the Admiral’s face, I saw a strange, desperate hope that I had not seen in a human being since I was a small child.
“My mother called me Lucan,” I whispered, my teeth chattering violently. “She told me my true name was Lucan of the Obsidian Reef. She told me to never tell the men in silver armor.”
The Grand Admiral let out a ragged, choking gasp, a tear forming in his eye and rolling down his weathered cheek, instantly freezing in the cold air. He looked at the circular sea dragon mark on my neck once more, then looked up at the flag of the High King flying from the main mast—the flag of the usurper who had murdered the true lords of the ocean two decades ago.
“Lucan…” Kaelen whispered, his voice trembling with an emotion so deep it shook his entire frame. He slowly stood up, turning his back to me and facing the stunned crew, his posture returning to its rigid, commanding height, though his face remained deadly serious. He looked at Captain Vance, who was now sweating despite the freezing blizzard.
“Vance,” the Admiral said, his voice echoing across the entire deck like a death sentence. “Bring this boy to my personal quarters immediately. If a single hair on his head is harmed, if he shivers for one more second, or if anyone so much as looks at him with disrespect… I will hang every officer on this ship from the yardarm before the sun rises.”
The captain dropped his whip, his jaw dropping in absolute shock. The crew stared in utter disbelief as the Grand Admiral himself reached down, gently lifted me from the freezing deck, and carried my broken, shivering body into the warmth of the grand cabin, leaving the entire crew standing in the freezing storm, completely paralyzed by the terrifying mystery of who I truly was.
CHAPTER 2
The warmth of the Grand Admiral’s cabin felt like a dream, a strange and distant world compared to the freezing hell of the deck I had lived on for two long years. The room was vast, lined with polished mahogany wood that smelled of expensive oil, rare spices, and old parchment. Thick, heavy tapestries depicting ancient naval battles hung from the walls, blocking out the chill of the storm outside. A massive iron hearth crackled with a roaring fire in the corner, casting long, dancing golden shadows across the plush rugs and the heavy oak desk covered in sea charts, gold-trimmed compasses, and official naval ledgers.
I sat on a soft, velvet-cushioned chair directly in front of the fire, wrapped in a thick, dry blanket made of genuine wolf fur. For the first time in thirty-six months, my skin was dry. For the first time, the constant, deep-seated ache of the freezing cold in my bones began to melt away.
Grand Admiral Kaelen stood by the massive glass windows at the back of the cabin, watching the heavy waves slam against the stern of the ship. He held a silver flask in his hand, but he wasn’t drinking. His knuckles were white, gripping the metal so tightly I thought it might crack. He had ordered his personal physician to tend to my broken ribs and bandage my bleeding feet, a luxury normally reserved only for high-ranking officers or wealthy merchants who paid for safe passage.
The old physician had worked in absolute silence, his eyes wide with a terrifying respect every time his gaze drifted toward the circular sea dragon mark on my neck. He had applied a soothing, aromatic salve to my wounds, taped my ribs with clean linen, and left the room without speaking a single word, bowing low to both the Admiral and, strangely, to me.
“Do you know what that mark means, boy?” Kaelen asked suddenly, breaking the long silence. He did not turn around. His voice was quiet, stripped of the booming authority he used on the crew, sounding heavy with the weight of a past he had spent twenty years trying to bury.
“My mother told me it was a curse,” I replied softly, my voice still raspy. I gripped the wolf fur blanket tightly, feeling the incredible softness against my scarred, rough hands. “She said it was the reason my father never came home from the great naval war. She said if the High King’s men ever saw it, they would cut off my head and throw my body to the gulls.”
The Admiral let out a long, heavy sigh, the breath escaping him like a man releasing a burden he had carried for a lifetime. He slowly turned around, his eyes locking onto mine. There was no cruelty in them now. No coldness. Only a profound, sorrowful guilt.
“Your mother was trying to save your life,” Kaelen said, walking slowly toward the desk. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, heavy silver key. He unlocked a hidden drawer at the bottom of the oak desk, reaching deep inside to pull out a small wooden box wrapped in oilskin to protect it from the salt air.
He placed the box on the table, his fingers lingering on the lid.
“Twenty years ago, this ocean belonged to a different line of rulers,” the Admiral began, his voice dropping to a whisper as if the very walls of the ship might betray him. “The Imperial Fleet was led by the Houses of the Obsidian Reef. They were not cruel warlords like the High King we serve today. They were men of honor who protected the trade routes, fed the coastal villages, and ruled the waves with justice. Your father, Admiral Jaxon, was the commander of the entire vanguard. He was the greatest sailor these waters had ever seen.”
My heart pounded against my bandaged ribs. Jaxon. The name felt familiar, like a half-remembered melody from a dream I had when I was a toddler. My mother had whispered that name in the dark when the winter winds howled against our broken shack on the southern docks, crying silently into her torn wool shawl.
“What happened to him?” I asked, leaning forward, forgetting the pain in my chest.
“Betrayal,” Kaelen spat, his face hardening with a sudden, dark anger. “The current High King, who was then just a ambitious fleet commander named Malakar, envied the power and love the people had for the Imperial Houses. He formed a secret alliance with the lawless pirate factions of the Outer Isles. During the Great Eclipse, when the fleet was anchored in the harbor of Valen, Malakar launched a surprise attack. They set fire to the ships while the men slept. They slaughtered the noble bloodlines in their beds. They wanted to erase every single person who carried the symbol of the sea dragon.”
The Admiral stepped closer to me, his eyes burning with an intense, long-dormant fire. “I was a young captain back then, Lucan. I was forced to watch my commanders burn. Malakar gave us a choice: kneel to his new order and take his silver armor, or be tied to the masts of our own ships and burned alive. I… I chose to live. I knelt. I took his gold. I became his Grand Admiral. And for twenty years, I have carried the shame of that cowardice in my heart every single day.”
He slowly opened the wooden box. Inside, resting on a bed of faded red velvet, was a massive silver ring. It wasn’t a standard naval ring. It was forged in the shape of a roaring sea dragon wrapped around a broken anchor—the exact match of the burn scar on my neck.
“Before your father’s ship went down in flames, he managed to smuggle his wife and newborn son out of the harbor on a small fishing skiff,” Kaelen whispered, looking at the ring. “He gave me this ring, telling me that if his bloodline survived, the true spirit of the ocean would never die. For twenty years, Malakar has hunted for any trace of Jaxon’s son. He thought he had killed you in the southern slums five years ago when his guards burned the coastal shacks.”
“We survived,” I said, a tear escaping my eye as the memories of that horrific night came rushing back. “My mother and I… we hid in the sea caves. She died of the winter lung a year later. I had no choice but to take a job as a deckhand on the first warship that entered the harbor, just to get enough food to survive. I didn’t know I was boarding the flagship of the very men who destroyed my family.”
“And Vance has treated you like a dog,” Kaelen said, his teeth gritting. “The son of the man who built the very foundation of this fleet, forced to clean the filth of cowards and traitors.”
Suddenly, a loud, aggressive knock echoed through the heavy oak doors of the cabin.
The Admiral’s demeanor instantly shifted. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by the mask of the cold, unyielding Grand Admiral. He quickly placed the silver ring back into the box, locking it inside the hidden drawer.
“Enter,” Kaelen commanded, his voice returning to its booming, icy tone.
The doors swung open, and Captain Vance stepped into the cabin. He had changed into dry clothes, his silver armor polished and gleaming under the candlelight. But his face was tight with suspicion, his dark eyes darting immediately to me, analyzing the wolf fur blanket, the clean bandages, and the fact that I was sitting in the Admiral’s presence rather than kneeling in chains.
“Grand Admiral,” Vance said, bowing slightly, though his tone carried a subtle edge of defiance. “The storm is beginning to clear. We are approaching the northern harbor of the High King’s fortress. The fleet council is assembling on the shore, and the High King’s personal guard is waiting at the docks to receive your report.”
“Good,” Kaelen said coldly. “Ensure the ship is anchored properly.”
Vance did not move. He kept his eyes locked on me, a cruel, mocking smile slowly creeping back onto his lips. “And what of the cabin boy, sir? The crew is talking. They are confused as to why a worthless deckhand is receiving the treatment of a high lord. Some of the men are superstitious. They say that mark on his neck is an omen of bad luck. They want him thrown overboard before we dock, to appease the sea.”
I felt a cold dread grip my stomach. Vance wasn’t stupid. He knew something had changed, and he wanted to eliminate me before whatever secret I carried could threaten his position.
“The boy remains under my protection, Captain,” the Admiral said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low register. “He will accompany me to the shore. He will stand before the fleet council.”
Vance’s eyes narrowed. He took a step forward, his hand resting on the pommel of his iron cutlass. “With all due respect, Grand Admiral, the laws of the Sea Throne state that any nameless stray found aboard a warship without proper papers is the sole property of the ship’s captain. He is my deckhand. I bought his contract from the dockmaster. If I choose to execute him for insubordination and laziness, that is my right under the High King’s law. Not even a Grand Admiral can override the property laws of the sovereign fleet.”
The tension in the room snapped like a tightly wound rope. Kaelen walked slowly over to Vance, standing so close their chest plates almost touched. The old Admiral was slightly shorter, but his presence was massive, radiating a cold, deadly authority that made Vance’s eyes flicker with a momentary flash of fear.
“Are you questioning my orders, Captain Vance?” Kaelen whispered, the words dripping with poison.
“I am simply upholding the High King’s law, Admiral,” Vance replied, his voice tightening, trying to maintain his bravado in front of his superior. “The High King Malakar does not tolerate officers who break the rules for the sake of a peasant child. If you protect this boy without a valid reason, I will be forced to include it in my official report to the fleet council tonight. And we both know how the High King treats those who show weakness to the lower classes.”
Vance was threatening him. He was using the name of the tyrant High King to back the Admiral into a corner, confident that Kaelen would not risk his high position, his gold, and his status for the sake of a miserable cabin boy.
I looked at Kaelen, my heart freezing. I expected him to break. I expected him to protect his own skin, just as he had done twenty years ago when my father’s fleet burned. I prepared myself to be handed back to Vance, to face the whip, the iron chains, and the cold depths of the ocean.
But Kaelen did not flinch. He looked at Vance for a long, silent moment, and then a slow, terrifying smile spread across his old, weathered face.
“You are entirely correct, Captain,” Kaelen said softly, stepping back. “The High King’s law must be followed to the letter. We shall let the fleet council decide the boy’s fate tonight. Let the entire harbor witness the judgment. Ensure the boy is dressed in clean clothes, and bring him to the grand pavilion on the shore. Let us see who truly holds the right to decide his destiny.”
Vance smiled triumphantly, believing he had won the psychological battle. He bowed low, his eyes flashing with a murderous intent as he looked at me. “As you wish, Grand Admiral. The High King himself will be attending the council tonight. I look forward to seeing how he judges a lazy boy with a traitorous mark on his neck.”
Vance turned and marched out of the cabin, slamming the heavy doors behind him.
I looked at the Admiral, my voice shaking with fear. “Admiral… you can’t let them bring me before the High King. He will recognize the mark. He will kill me instantly!”
Grand Admiral Kaelen turned to me, his face dead serious, his eyes gleaming with the dangerous resolve of a warrior who had finally decided to break his chains. He walked over to the hidden drawer, unlocked it, and pulled out the wooden box containing my father’s silver ring. He did not give it to me; instead, he slipped it into the secret pocket of his own heavy velvet cloak.
“Let him try, Lucan,” Kaelen whispered, his voice sending a chill down my spine. “Twenty years ago, I remained silent while the true kings of the ocean were murdered. I will not remain silent tonight. The storm has arrived, boy. And it is going to wash away the traitors once and for all.”
The ship groaned as the heavy iron anchors were dropped into the shallow waters of the northern harbor. The judgment was about to begin, and as I looked out the dark window at the thousands of torches burning on the snowy cliffs of the High King’s fortress, I knew that by tomorrow morning, I would either be restored to my rightful place… or my blood would dye the harbor waves a deep, irreversible red.
