The tribunal doors thundered shut behind the herald’s staff, sealing the chamber once more in solemn firelight.
Elaria felt her spine stiffen with each echo. If anything, the break had heightened the storm in the hall rather than lessening it. In their factions, councilors continued to whisper, their voices brittle with distrust, anticipation, and terror. The air itself was choked by the stench of anxiety, which hung like smoke.
Draven sat tall beside her, his shoulders squared like stone despite the lingering wounds of his duel. Every breath he drew was measured, controlled. His entire body begged for restraint. However, Elaria, who was seated near enough to feel his pulse throbbing beneath the skin, was aware of how firmly that constraint was in place.
The staff struck again, calling
