Aeris pressed her hands flat against the polished surface of the table, the heat from the roaring fire washing over her palms but doing nothing to calm the storm in her chest. Across from her, Prince Arthur leaned back in his high-backed chair, expression hesitant, brows knit in careful consideration. The study smelled of old parchment and burning wood, a quiet contrast to the chaos she carried inside.
"I'm sorry, but once my father makes a decision, nothing can—" the prince began, voice measured, almost pleading.
"We don't have time," Aeris cut him off sharply, her tone low but unwavering. She leaned forward, eyes locked on his. "We can't wait for a tournament, or sit around debating procedure while Ashenhold burns."
