Their eyes locked, and though the words had barely escaped her lips, he heard everything. Her plea. Her command. Her desperation.
She couldn't let him interfere. Not now. Not when the fire itself had become her trial. If he dragged her out, the Queen Dowager would spit one word—fraud—and the crowd would devour her alive.
Selena's throat bobbed as she swallowed against the dryness. Every inhale burned, like her lungs were already filling with smoke. Her knees threatened to give way, but she forced herself upright, forced her chin higher.
"If fire is my trial," her voice cracked like brittle glass, but she didn't falter, "then let it judge me."
The courtyard rippled with gasps. They spread like a storm wind, rolling from noble balconies down to the crowded peasants pressed against the outer gates.
Some scoffed. Some jeered. Some clutched at each other in terror. Others fell silent, too afraid to even breathe in the same moment as her words.
