The air in the obsidian hall thickened.
Valecar's expression didn't crack—but something in his gaze shifted. His elbow lifted from the throne's armrest as he slowly rose to his feet, letting the folds of his deep crimson robe fall in smooth ripples around his frame. His silver hair drifted gently, lifted by a pressure that wasn't wind.
Every noble in the room froze.
Lucifer stood still, his wings twitching faintly, feathers dripping black mist that curled against the stone like breath in winter. Blood dripped from his claws, soaking slowly into the polished floor, the red dark and thick in the flickering torchlight. His eyes didn't leave Valecar's.
Zane shifted his stance beside him, one hand crackling with lightning now, the other resting on the hilt of his curved blade. Greta narrowed her eyes, the chains around her thickening, coiling tighter around the witches behind her.
