The council chamber blazed with torchlight, the carved stone walls reflecting the fury in Prince Vanda's eyes. The message from the dungeon still weighed heavily—Rosa was already in his kingdom.
The nobles sat in a semicircle, their jeweled robes and proud faces pale with unease. Murmurs swirled like smoke.
"My prince," Lord Draylen, the oldest among them, finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "This matter cannot be ignored. Rosa of Arven is no mere spoiled princess. She wields power through fear and blood. If she has entered your land, she brings war with her."
"And war," another lord added quickly, "is a burden we cannot afford. Our harvest was poor. Our coffers strain with the weight of last year's campaign." His beady eyes flickered toward Daya, who stood silently near the far wall, head bowed. "All of this because of… one maid?"
The words slashed through the chamber.
Vanda's chair scraped harshly as he rose to his feet. His shadow stretched tall and monstrous against the walls. "One maid?" His voice was low but deadly. "You dare reduce the matter to so little? She is under my protection. An insult to her is an insult to me."
The nobles shifted nervously, but one dared to press on. "With respect, my prince… is she worth the lives of thousands? If Rosa demands her, then—"
Flames leapt to Vanda's hands before the man could finish. The noble shrieked, stumbling back as sparks singed his robe.
"Do you suggest," Vanda growled, "that I bend knee to Rosa? That I toss an innocent woman to the wolves to spare your purse?"
The chamber fell silent, every man too afraid to breathe.
At that moment, the great doors creaked open. A guard entered, bowing low, his face pale. In his hands lay a scroll bound with crimson ribbon.
"A letter, my lord… carried by a black-feathered raven. It bears the seal of Arven."
The chamber stiffened.
Vanda strode forward, snatching the scroll. His claws tore through the seal. As his eyes scanned the words, the flames on his hands flared brighter.
Daya's stomach twisted as she watched his jaw tighten.
At last, he read aloud, his voice thunderous:
"Prince Vanda, you shelter what is mine. Surrender the girl, or I will stain your throne in blood. You have three days."
The letter ended with Rosa's signature, bold and mocking.
Vanda crushed the parchment in his fist, fire consuming it until nothing but ash rained to the floor.
"Three days," he repeated, his voice deadly calm. His gaze swept the chamber, silencing every trembling noble. "Then let her come. I will show Rosa what it means to trespass in the land of dragons.