Daemon could hear it the whispers, the low murmurs trailing behind him like shadows. Every step he took echoed with suspicion. The nobles' glares burned against his back, their eyes branding him with silent judgment.
Hmph. Weaklings, he thought. Soon, those eyes will hold something else fear.
"Let's go, Nyxtriel," he said, not bothering to look behind him.
"Yes, Father," she replied quietly, walking a half-step behind.
As they exited the grand hall, Daemon used the detour to take in the palace gardens. It was quite unnaturally so. The hedges were trimmed to perfection, the trees perfectly aligned, and flowers of all colors bloomed in ornate beds as if they had been placed by hand.
Nyxtriel tilted her head, her crimson eyes flicking over a bed of dark roses. "Those roses are beautiful, Father."
The word hit him again Father. He was beginning to get used to it. Oddly enough, it didn't sound as strange as it once did.
