- Elyra POV -
The long dining hall glowed with golden light, chandeliers swaying faintly as the evening breeze pushed through half-open windows. Elyra sat at the table with her parents—her father towering as always, posture sharp, and her mother calm, elegant, still as if sculpted from marble.
Caeron's voice cut through the clatter of silverware. "You did well in Tharvaldur, Elyra. Turning the chaos into advantage… that is what an Estermont does. But this boy—" his eyes narrowed, the weight behind them as heavy as iron. "—Noel. Do not mistake fleeting attachment for true strength. He is not—"
Elissabeth's voice, smooth yet unyielding, cut across him like a blade. "Caeron." She set down her cup, her gaze fixed sharply on her husband. "You will not speak of him in that tone."
The room stilled. Even Elyra, who was used to her mother's calm authority, blinked in surprise.
