Chapter 27 The Haunt

• Maelrik strode through the marble corridors of the palace, his boots echoing against the stone floor. The weight of his failure—and the embarrassment of his close call sat heavily on his shoulders. The air smelled faintly of incense and wax from the chandeliers above, but even that could not mask the tension that had been brewing ever since the black flame had been defeated, seemingly at the hands of a mysterious boy.
• Maelrik entered the shadowed hall of the palace with measured steps. The massive doors had been thrown open, and the chill of the evening crept along the marble floors. The torchlight flickered against the high ceilings, casting long, wavering shadows across the room. At the far end, King Tharion sat on his throne. Beside him stood Lareth, the King’s special advisor, his hands folded behind his back, his sharp gaze fixed on the man approaching.
• “You may speak,” Tharion said without preamble, his voice cold and commanding, yet carrying the weight of controlled fury.