Lara met her gaze without flinching, the weight of Amielle's scrutiny like a blade pressed to her throat—but she refused to be cowed. The chandelier light caught the glint of defiance in her eyes, turning them into twin embers.
"I appreciate your concern, Lady Amielle. Truly. But I find that those who stand firm in their honor need not fear misplaced rumors or glances. Let those who spread them beware instead."
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. The air between them shimmered, charged with unspoken challenge, like the tense stillness before a lightning strike. Around them, the revelry of the hall carried on, a blur of laughter, clinking goblets, and whispered intrigues—blind to the silent duel playing out in its midst.
Then Amielle's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes, and she lost a let out a hollow laugh that echoed with menace. With a graceful sweep of her silken skirts, she stepped back, her poise as dangerous as a drawn dagger.
