Lata, Capital of Latvia — Occupied Territory
Few days after the fall
Snow drifted down like divine judgment, burying the sins of the past in a blanket of cold silence.
The royal palace of Latvia stood proud atop its hill—a baroque monument of faded glory, now flying the green and gold of House Eriksen once again. After years in exile and disgrace, the prodigal son had returned.
Prince Eric, or rather King Eric I, leaned against the veranda's frost-coated railing, a smug grin tugging at his lips as he watched the city square below. Caspian's bronze statue was being prepared for demolition—ropes strung around its neck, scaffold crews hacking at the pedestal like it was a heretic's altar.
He exhaled slowly, his breath curling like smoke.
"Heh..." Eric chuckled to himself. "Everything went perfectly. Just like I planned."
"Your Majesty, your cloak."
