The council chamber still smelled faintly of pine and iron, as if the very air had been steeped in blood and old forests. Morning light spilled in through the high windows, catching on the gleaming mahogany table that stretched almost the entire length of the room. Ariana kept her hands clasped in her lap, the weight of every gaze pricking her skin.
Kael sat at the head, shoulders squared, expression carved from stone. He hadn’t spoken to her since the previous night—since she had overheard his voice low and deadly in the war room. That silence pressed heavier on her than any angry words could. His presence was an unyielding wall at her back even when he didn’t look at her.
Voices droned around her—updates on border patrols, supply shortages, shifting allegiances—but she only half-heard
