The room smelled of old wine and desperation.
King Aldred sat slumped in his chair, the once-magnificent velvet robes draped carelessly over his body like a funeral shroud. His fingers curled tightly around the stem of his goblet, the wine inside long since spilled over onto the table, staining the fine wood with a dark red hue.
But he hardly noticed.
His green eyes, dulled by drink, were fixed on the large portrait that loomed over his chamber.
Mirelle.
His beloved sister.
His one perfect thing in this wretched world.
Her painted image stared down at him, her emerald eyes capturing that same softness, that same beauty that had once belonged to him. He had dressed her in silks, adorned her in jewels, sheltered her within the palace walls like a delicate bird in a gilded cage. She had belonged at his side—always.
Yet she had run.
She had abandoned him, just as everyone always did.
His gaze drifted to the smaller painting beside Mirelle's.
Noelle.
