Bab 58: the injustice we fear.

Anger clouded his vision, propelling him down the hall. 

Shadows lengthened behind him, darkening the Flame-blessed lighting. Tia's pigtails flicked behind her head, and her maid's dress took on an inky blackness. Her face was set in a grim line, her duty as a servant of the royal family, and as a child of the Deep, compelling her with the same vigor as Damian.

After seeing Astrid to bed, Damian had donned his royal regalia—his jacket with golden trim and epaulets—and as he marched down the hallways, the nighttime staff snapped to attention. He exuded a powerful aura of determination and regnal wrath—none dared stop him or question him.

Damian reached Nicholas' door and kicked it open, blowing out fragments of timber.

The marquis sat behind an ornate desk, writing out letters by the glow of a gas-lit lamp.