In the Iron Empire, Emperor Regulus sat alone in his throne hall, his mind lingering on an overly audacious diplomat.
But far to the south, across the Sea of Mists, no one in Northreach knew any of this.
They only knew one thing: two months had passed without a word.
Queen Aurelia stood alone at the edge of a stone pond in the courtyard garden of Iron Hearth Castle.
The water mirrored the gray sky above. In the distance, soldiers trained, their shouted commands muffled and broken by the cold northern wind carrying the sharp scent of pine.
She wore a simple, neutral-toned gown, a hand-knitted shawl draped over her shoulders. Her black hair, lightly silvered at the temples, was neatly pinned up as always. Her posture remained upright and regal. Only her eyes betrayed her—still warm, but shadowed with deep fatigue.
Sixty days.
