Duke Elias led two hundred men through the dying light of evening. He, alongside three loyal nobles and his daughter Angela, had finally breached the outer defenses of the city.
"Kill any loyalist soldiers you find," Elias whispered. "We move silently. We strike the heart of the palace."
Angela hesitated, her hand clutching her sword tighter.
"Father... are you sure we can trust Daemon? I don't like this."
"If he betrays us," Duke Elias growled, "I'll gut him myself—even if I have to crawl through my own blood to do it."
"Oh? Really?"
A voice cut through the gathering darkness.
Daemon descended from above, landing soundlessly nearby. His presence alone made the soldiers freeze.
Duke Elias turned stiffly, forcing a smile. "Ah—Daemon! I was only joking, of course."
His laugh died when he noticed Nyxtriel materializing beside Daemon, her aura seething like a living storm.
The soldiers and the nobles stared, unnerved by the overwhelming pressure radiating from them both.
