The light was fading. Small shafts of the setting sun streamed through the open window of the king’s bedchamber in the Moribundian castle. The air was quiet and still. The smell of approaching death was heavy. A group of men were gathered about a massive wood bed in the midst of the room, staring down on a frail human figure whose form was just visible beneath the pale sheets. Despite the figure’s struggle to breathe, an expression of alertness still sat in his sharp blue eyes.

Lord DuPraye was one of the men standing there, his hand in the king’s. He wished the old man would release it. Why wasn’t he dead already? He would never have thought the king possessed such stamina. When the summons came, he expected to be informed that the king was dead and he was now the new ruler....

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