The Emperor's chamber smelled faintly of herbs and iron.
Alaric strode in first, his hand still firmly clasping Daphne's until the chief eunuch bowed low and excused himself, the doors closing softly behind him.
On the massive bed draped in gold-embroidered silks lay the Emperor.
His frame, once proud and commanding, seemed smaller now, his skin pale, his lips tinged faintly blue. Yet his eyes, those sharp, cunning eyes, still glittered with life.
He pushed himself up against the pillows and forced a smile.
"Well," he rasped, his voice hoarse but still carrying its familiar charm, "isn't this a sight? My General returned from war, and his Rose beside him. I'd stand to greet you, but…" His smile crooked wryly. "…I fear I might topple over and spoil the reunion."
Alaric's grip on Daphne's hand tightened, though his face revealed nothing.
Then the Emperor coughed, once, twice, and suddenly, dark blood stained his sleeve.
