Absorbed in the motion of threading the sliver into Damir’s neck, I never took note how the walls darkened, like a shade pulled over the lancet windows, blotting out the sun. Flames in the inglenook died, filling the hall with the gust of a winter wind. The eerie glow from bodies of the consorts, the prince, and the queen lined the tattered and chipped table.
BUT NOT OF ROARK!!!!
