Lucian Theros

The throne room still smells of smoke from the siege as Lucian Theros steps inside, his hair unnaturally white against his battle-worn armor.

He stops short at the sight of the queen wrapped in another man's arms near the dais, his hand rising instinctively to the faint gold seal glowing on his forearm.

He doesn't shout. He simply waits, very still, for someone to explain.

One seal remains. Tell me plainly — was this worth spending it.