That night, sleep—a solace in times of trouble—was an alien concept to Malen. He lay in his bed, the silk sheets a mockery of comfort, a cruel reminder of the peace that eluded him. His mind was a battlefield, each thought a skirmish, each emotion a bomb detonating in the depths of his soul. He replayed Duke's laughter, the quick wit that had always ignited their shared dreams. The memory of his friend, a beacon of light in the encroaching darkness, was about to be extinguished.
The moon hung high in the sky, a pale witness to his anguish, casting long, skeletal shadows across the chamber. Malen rose, the weight of despair pulling him towards the window like a relentless tide. He yearned to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all, but his voice—choked with sorrow—died in his throat.
Deep down, he knew he couldn't save Duke. The specter of death loomed close, and the only weapon he had left was resolve. He would fight, even if it meant facing the might of King Torin, a tyrant whose heart was as cold as the steel of his throne.
In the flickering light of his hearth, Lord Marcellus held the crumpled parchment in his hand, the scent of lavender lingering like a ghost. The words, once stark and official, swam before his eyes, blurring with the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He had read the letter from Queen Lyra of Eldrado three times, and with each reading, the weight of its contents sank deeper into his soul, wrapping around his heart like a vice.
"Aurelia," he began, his voice rasping with unshed tears as he sought her gaze. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across her face, their movement a reflection of the turmoil within him. "The Queen... she requests our presence in Eldrado." He hesitated, his heart racing as he continued, "She says... she says it's a matter of great urgency, that my Jasmine..." His voice cracked, and tears rolled down his left cheek, glistening like fallen stars.
Lady Aurelia's eyes widened, and tears brimmed within their depths. "Sister," she whispered, the word a fragile prayer.
In that moment, the air thickened with the weight of hope and fear. "There is an urgent call from the palace," Lord Marcellus said, overwhelmed with joy, his heart a tempest of emotions. "I have to rush to the court now."
Aurelia nodded, a smile breaking through her sorrow, her spirit lifting like the dawn chasing away the night. She reached out, clasping his arm with a comforting grip. "Go, my lord. May the winds guide you swiftly to Eldrado."
With a final glance at the flickering hearth, Marcellus turned and strode towards the door, the parchment clutched tightly in his hands.