Chapter 29 Thorns Of The Crown

• Every crown draws blood. Especially the ones you never asked to wear. The summit at the Southern Wastes was supposed to be routine. A meet-and-hold with defecting border clans, neutral in the civil war but rich in territory and food access. The kind of diplomatic mission Eron had always kept distant, cautious. But Peaceborn, newly seated in command, chose differently.
• “I need to go myself,” he’d said.
• Layla objected. “Eron would have sent a delegate.”