[Third Person].
Reginald did not wait for formal dismissal.
The moment the duel was declared over and Wanda was carried away limping, pale, humiliated, he turned sharply and strode towards the exit. His robes fluttered behind him, and his steps were too quick to be dignified.
Shame burned hotter than anger. His daughter, who had sworn Meredith was nothing more than a wolfless decoration, had been reduced to a spectacle before half of Stormveil's most influential figures.
He should never have underestimated Meredith. He should never have allowed himself to believe the rumours so completely.
But more than humiliation drove him out of the chamber.
He knew Draven, and he knew that look. The controlled stillness. The quiet satisfaction. The memory of every insult carefully stored away.
Reginald had no intention of remaining behind to experience the beginning of that retaliation, so he exited swiftly.
