A Desperate Plea

The heavy oak door of Lord Valerius’s study felt like a seal, locking Prince Salem in with the man who held so much sway over his life. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and something else, something sharp and metallic that pricked at Salem’s senses, though he couldn’t place it. Valerius sat behind his ornate desk, a silken robe draped over his shoulders, his eyes, dark and fathomless, fixed on Salem.

“Your Highness,” Valerius’s voice was a smooth, low rumble, a practiced sound that usually instilled calm but now grated on Salem’s nerves. “To what do I owe this… unscheduled visit?”

Salem clasped his hands behind his back, a futile attempt to keep them from betraying his agitation. “I came to speak with you, Lord Valerius. About the prophecy.”