The corridors of the palace were already lined with courtiers when Lucien and Liora emerged, their joined hands drawing more whispers than any decree could have. The nobles parted like silk curtains, but their eyes clung to the pair, sharp as knives.
Liora kept her chin lifted, even as her stomach knotted. Every glance carried judgment, every murmur sounded like a curse. She knew that one wrong step here would become another stone hurled at Lucien's back—and now hers as well.
Rowan walked a pace ahead, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. "They're hungry," he muttered, low enough that only Lucien and Liora could hear. "Do not give them a drop of blood."
Lucien gave a sharp nod, his gaze forward, unflinching. "Then we make them choke on silence instead."
