The council chamber held its breath.
The weight of Rael’s words pressed against every man and woman present, suffocating the air.
Dareth sat back, his smirk replaced by a thin line of unease, but his eyes still shone with venom.
“Enough!” King Almond's voice thundered, his staff striking the marble floor again, a shockwave of authority rippling through the room.
“There will be no blades drawn in this council. Not while I am the king.”
Rael’s sword hovered at Dareth’s throat for one breath longer—long enough for the elder to swallow visibly—before he sheathed it with a sharp hiss. His glare, however, never wavered.
The messenger still knelt on the floor, trembling, waiting to be acknowledged. His chest heaved as though the air was going to escape his lungs.
“Boy,” the king said, his
