Arthur’s POV
The council chamber reeked of fear.
Not the sharp, metallic scent of battle fear — but the cold, slick stench of political panic. The kind men wore when they realized the power they clung to was slipping out of their hands.
My boots echoed across the marble as I walked in, Tyla’s hand wrapped firmly in mine. The council members rose to their feet, some bowing, some pretending not to stare at the mark on her neck that still glowed faintly from the Moon-Marked surge.
She wasn’t officially marked by my teeth — not yet — but the bond awakening within her had left a silver shimmer on her skin. A divine one.
Their eyes widened.
Good.
Let them see what they tried to break.
Tyla squeezed my hand gently, grounding me. Her palm was warm despite the tension vibrating through her.
