Benedict of Amber

The castle's corridors were in semi-darkness. The sun had already set far enough for its rays to no longer penetrate the windows, and only the soft evening light lent solace to the darkness. The stone walls, hung with tapestries commemorating past victories, seemed filled with a gravelike chill. Perhaps for too many who were never meant to die, they had become the final resting place before the crypt.

Benedict walked quickly down the corridor. Although he didn't visit Amber often, he had no desire to prolong this stay. He had one last thing to do before leaving: an hour ago, Oberon had ordered him to the throne room for some important reason. To maintain the intrigue, or perhaps for some other purpose of his own, he hadn't immediately stated it. Perhaps a new assignment or news of a new addition to the family awaited Benedict there. And of those options, he would certainly prefer the former. Still, he had tried not to prepare for anything beforehand—knowing Oberon, he was unlikely to hide something so mundane. So he had to be prepared to meet anyone and anything. And yet, upon entering the hall, Benedict paused at the threshold, looking with poorly concealed surprise at his father, who stood beside him.