RAVYN'S POV
The goblet trembled ever so slightly in my hand, a betrayal of the storm that danced beneath my carefully arranged calm. I couldn't see his eyes anymore—only the glint of his chin as he leaned back in his chair, shadows stretching across the sharp cut of his jawline. And yet I could feel him watching me.
I hated that.
I hated how quiet he was being. I hated the way the silence felt stretched tight, like a drawn bowstring, and I was the arrow waiting to be fired. I hated how still everything was—how even the soldiers in the background had fallen into unnatural discipline, their voices hushed, their movements minimal, like they too knew something had shifted in the air.
He was supposed to snap at me.
He was supposed to sneer and wave me off, perhaps even curse me for the audacity of interrupting his temper tantrum with something as trivial as wine.
But instead—
"You are quite lovely," he said.
