"I would have to agree with Lord Cedric," Elara said gently, her expression grave, brows slightly drawn in concern. "I've received a number of… troubling complaints. Not just from the villagers themselves, but from nobles under my jurisdiction as well—about rogue behavior in settlements where suffering is at its peak."
Her voice was calm, sincere. Not sharp like Cedric's, not calculated. There was no edge of accusation in her tone—only weariness. Her worry was palpable, and it made the conversation heavier, not crueler.
She wasn't trying to corner Heinz. That much was clear. She simply wanted to speak, to finally bring to light what had clearly been gnawing at her conscience.
Elara, after all, was well-known—even admired—for her relentless dedication to the people. Among all the dukes, she was the one who never hesitated to get her hands dirty. Always first to respond to disaster. Always the voice of the voiceless.
The weight of her concern made the room quieter.
