A Bitter Victory
Lady Maris scrambled down from the carriage, her breath catching in her throat as the full extent of the devastation came into view.
The western wing of the royal palace lay in ruins, reduced to a smoldering pile of stone and ash. The central section fared only slightly better—half-collapsed, its grand towers shattered like fragile glass.
She gasped, overwhelmed by the destruction, but relief flickered in her chest. The battle was finally over.
Battles like these, especially when involving cunning strategists and ancient vampires of immense power, could drag on for days, even weeks, with bloodshed mounting as time wore on.
This one, though, had been brutal and swift. The victory, if it could be called that, came at a heavy price.