In the shadowed confines of his private office within the eastern tower where towering oak shelves groaned under the weight of ancient tomes and battle maps, and a single oil lamp cast flickering amber light across the cluttered desk Ashen paced like a caged beast.
Parchments lay scattered, ink pots overturned in his earlier fit of rage, but he paid them no mind.
His mind was a storm at the voice that had slithered into his skull earlier that day, cold and insistent "Kill her" still echoed faintly, a vicious whisper that made his scales itch beneath his skin.
He had left Lumina locked in their chambers, sealed by his own power, her body weakening from the poison's grip while Stella and Aria tended to her.
The thought gnawed at his wife, alone, feverish, reaching for him and he couldn't go to her.
