"The Emperor is dead," his voice called from the doorway. It was quiet, though not sad. Alaida looked up from the blade she was sharpening, the words not registering.
"What?" Her own voice came out colder than she wanted, but her feathers ruffled as she gazed upon the cloaked figure. That voice was familiar.
"What, do I need to repeat myself? Learn to listen the first time, General," the hooded man hissed as he stormed forward, towards her.
Alaida's hand tightened around the hilt of her knife, just before the man yanked down his hood. Lysander. The Emperor's son.
Alaida immediately released her blade, taking a startled step backwards. "Your highness," she exhaled, voice heavy with shock, "Shall– Shall I gather the guard? What happened? Who—?"
"That," Lysander interrupted, sliding her knife off the table and into his hand, "-is none of your concern. Do not bother with the guard."
Alaida shifted on her talons with unease, her wings twitching against her back. Of course it was her concern. She was the Emperor's protector, his guardian, such a travesty would have never happened under her watch. This was, in almost every way, her fault.
Before she could speak again, Lysander continued to speak. "Following his death, the Emperor's guard shall report to his heir. That would be me, correct?"
Alaida could barely follow, her mind racing, and stammered out a, "Yes, but—"
"But nothing. General Alaida, we have business to attend to in Astara." Lysander stood in front of her, holding her knife, and lifted it up. She almost flinched. Lysander clutched his long hair in one hand, then cut through it with ease, not even watching.
With his hair cut short, he bore a striking resemblance to... Well. She'd heard the rumors.
The hair fell to the floor, and Lysander offered Alaida her blade. "Shall we, General?"
Alaida took the knife and sheathed it at her side. "We shall, my Lord."