THE DUKE'S FORBIDDEN PROPHECY
Then without warning, the air carries a burnt scent.
Smoke stings my eyes instead of warm woodsmoke. Burning paper mixes with something sour - like melted bindings. Light shifts, first amber, then deep crimson, flickering like breathless pulses. A wave rolls across the skin, thin and harsh, nothing gentle about it. Far off, fire hisses like starving teeth while voices yell into the smoke. A hammer hits inside my skull, each blow drilling through the back of my sight.
Smoke first. Then flames reached the Royal Archives. Not just any room - the west wing burned. Those old land grant scrolls? Gone. The ones needed for the Rothmere case disappeared in ash.
Hot Chapters