Page 12 of Severe Husband Warning

The Stromgarde spire dominates the district long before I reach it.

Its black walls climb impossibly high, disappearing into restless clouds where great conductors harvest the endless lightning above Galmoleth. Every pulse of storm-light races down the silver channels carved into its surface before vanishing somewhere deep within the mountain beneath the city.

Two guards stand before the enormous gates, one looking at me expectantly.

“State your business,” the older guard calls, his voice carrying easily across the courtyard.

I stop several paces away and fold my hands to hide their trembling.

I steady my voice before answering, “I request an audience with Lord Stromgarde.”

The older guard gives me a brief look before answering, “His lordship does not receive visitors without appointment.”

“I understand,” I answer as evenly as I can. “My name is Calla Alder, and I serve Lord Malakor’s household as a court musician. The matter I bring concerns Lord Malakor himself, and I believe it should be placed before Lord Stromgarde personally.”

The mention of Lord Malakor earns the first genuine reaction I’ve seen from either of them.

The older guard studies me for another moment before asking, “And you won’t explain this matter to me?”

“I’m sorry. I can only discuss it with Lord Stromgarde,” I insisted.

His gaze stays on me long enough that I wonder if I’ve overplayed my hand.

Finally, he nods toward his companion.

“Fetch Commander Vhoros.”

The younger guard disappears through the gates while the older remains where he is, though the dismissive certainty with which he first greeted me has softened into cautious curiosity.

Minutes pass. The storm rolls overhead, another ribbon of lightning illuminating the black stone before fading again into crimson skies.

I clasp my hands together to stop myself from twisting the edge of my cloak and lift a silent prayer to whatever mercy still lingers above Galmoleth’s endless storms.

Please, let him remember me.

The words feel foolish the moment I think them, yet I cling to them anyway.

If Commander Vhoros turns me away, I will have nothing left to offer my father except an apology I can’t bear to speak.

6

ROTHGAR

Iset another patrol report atop the growing stack beside my desk.

“The southern perimeter remains understaffed,” I begin, tracing a finger along the map spread before me. “Move two squads from the western district. Smuggling has declined since the river inspections increased.”

Captain Dresk cocks his head, thoughtful. “It will leave the western watch lighter than usual,” he muses.

“The western border has remained quiet for six months,” I counter. “The southern quarter has not.”

My captain nods once, already reaching for the amended orders.

Captain Dresk slides the next report across my desk. Storm-tithe revenues from the western districts have fallen below projection, prompting another review of collection routes before I move on to conduit repair requests awaiting authorization.

None of these matters is urgent on its own. That is precisely why they deserve attention now. A lord who neglects small failures eventually inherits catastrophic ones.

Just as my hand settles on the report, a knock sounds at the study doors.