The clearing still held the echo of the arrow, a faint hum of danger lingering in the air. The nobles around them murmured, shifting uneasily on their feet. Alistair's shadow stretched long over Lucian, his presence heavy and predatory. Lucian, as always, met him with a poised, mocking grace, each step measured, each glance deliberate.
Alaric's voice broke through the tension, low and strained, carrying the weight of restraint. "Alistair, enough with all these," he called, trying to keep his younger brother from doing anything rash in front of the nobles. "Step back."
Alistair's gaze swung toward Alaric, a sharp edge to it, every inch of his posture coiled with disdain. His lips curled, a mixture of contempt and amusement, as though Alaric's command was a faintly amusing inconvenience rather than a warning. "Always so fond of tuning off my fun, aren't you?" His words dripped with mockery, but his tone was sharp, like a blade.
