Clara's fingers trembled as she held the letter, her eyes scanning the words again, hoping—praying—that she had misread them. But the message remained unchanged, the ink seared into the parchment like a curse she couldn't escape. Her chest tightened as distress pooled in her stomach.
"Master Brooks was killed for leading a riot against Lord's soldiers. His wife and children remain outside town. Several men were slashed with their swords. Ten are wounded, four dead. Please send us aid."
A sharp knock on the door made her jump, her grip tightening on the letter. Before she could compose herself, the door creaked open, and a guard stepped inside. His presence alone was enough to remind her of the reality she had to face.
“The King is ready to see you,” the guard announced, his voice stead
