The private chambers were cloaked in a heavy, contemplative silence, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth and the distant echo of footsteps retreating down the corridor. The warm glow of the flames cast dancing shadows across the walls, painting the room in shades of amber and gold, but the warmth did not reach Attia's eyes.
He stood by the tall window, his back to the room, his hands clasped tightly behind him. His reflection stared back at him from the dark glass—a ghost of the general he had been, a shadow of the son he had once tried to be. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid, his entire body coiled with a tension that had nothing to do with the physical realm.
He had just watched his father be stripped of everything.
Not just his title. Not just his freedo
