The Court's Ultimatum

The air in the Vance solar thickened with a tension that had nothing to do with the encroaching night. Commander Lyra Sol stood before Anya, her posture as rigid as the polished obsidian of her uniform. Every line of her body spoke of discipline, of unwavering adherence to a code Anya herself was rapidly dismantling. Sol’s eyes, the color of a stormy sea, swept over the room, lingering on the shadows where Kaelen, still more beast than man, had retreated. His presence was a palpable weight, a low growl of unrest that vibrated just beneath the surface of polite conversation.

“Lady Anya Vance,” Sol’s voice was a low, resonant hum, devoid of warmth. “I am Commander Lyra Sol, dispatched by the High Council to investigate a matter of grave concern.”

Anya inclined her head, her own voice steady, a practiced calm she didn’t entirely feel. “Commander. You are welcome, though I confess, I had not anticipated a visit so soon.” She omitted the fact that she had anticipated *no* visit, had hoped to keep this fragile, nascent thing between her and Kaelen hidden from the prying eyes of the courts for as long as possible.