The morning sun filtered weakly through the high windows of the outer audience hall, casting pale rectangles of light across the marbled floor. Zhu Mingyu sat on the central platform, shoulders relaxed and expression unreadable, as the heads of three noble families paced the polished wood before him.
Gone was the silk veil of civility that had once clouded the Crown Prince's demeanor. He was no longer hiding behind the mask of filial obedience or gentle diplomacy. Not after everything. Not after what they'd done to her.
He did not speak as they argued amongst themselves—low, urgent tones that reeked of desperation and false concern.
"—and the rumors have reached even the border provinces. A skull, placed on a young lady's pillow like some barbaric threat. What kind of household allows such violence within its inner gates?"
