HOPE'S POV
Priest Antioch’s living room felt unusually small this morning—too small for all the tension inside it.
Kian sat on the sofa with a stiff back, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack. He wasn’t talking. He wasn’t looking at anyone. He was just… staring at the space in front of him like the air had personally offended him. Every once in a while, he would wince, clutching his head or his sides. Sometimes he would groan, shifting around in obvious discomfort.
Antioch, on the other hand, was talking enough for both of them.
“You shouldn’t have attacked the royal guards back in the healer’s den, Kian,” he scolded, pacing up and down the room. “Do you understand how much trouble you just added to your own case? Do you not realize how bad things already are with
