Igor

Three weeks. Twenty-one days of holding together a kingdom that wanted to fly apart at the seams. Twenty-one nights of staring at reports that got worse with every sunrise.

I stood at the window of Orion's chambers, watching the sun set over a citadel that had become a fortress under siege—not from without, but from within. The crowds had gathered again today, their torches flickering in the distance like a fever dream made manifest. They came every day now, wolves from every corner of ...