"So, there is a chance he would die trying…" The voice in the dark chamber was smooth, hesitant. It belonged to a man draped in the muted grey of the Snow Leopard retinue, a colour designed to blend into the walls of Soren's domain. His gloved hands were clasped behind his back, it was a sign of obedience.
A single lantern glowed on the polished table, reflecting Soren's face in a pale halo. Shadows carved the elegant bones of his cheeks and the straight lines of his mouth into something sharp, something that looked almost inhuman.
"A very high chance," Soren corrected, his tone as soft as it was merciless.
The man shifted, just slightly. He was used to Soren's reputation—his brilliance, his cruelty—but he hadn't expected such unfeeling clarity towards Riven. He never took in any one, only Riven, but even he did not seem to warm his heart.
The man shifted, just slightly. He was used to Soren's reputation—his brilliance, his cruelty—but he hadn't expected such unfeeling clarity.
