Roland straightened. "Now?"
"Now," Sasha said calmly, raising an eyebrow at the man.
The word cracked through the chamber like steel drawn from its sheath.
He took a step back from the hearth, brushing the soot from his fingers as if the weight of the message still lingered. His face remained calm, but his shoulders were drawn taut, each movement sharpened by concentration.
"Bishop Varnek has been circling the capital for too long," Sasha continued. "Hosting royal dinners. Offering blessings that don't belong to him. If Silas had to smuggle that warning into my hands through fire and silence, it means Varnek's hand is already too deep in court affairs."
Daniel's jaw tensed. "And the boy?"
"Prince Zyon," Sasha said flatly. "He is young enough to be my son but too ill to be the crown prince. I would not be surprised if Alistair planned to recognize only this one. He has at least ten other sons."
The room absorbed the weight of that truth.
