Tonight, the silence sharpened when he saw what no one dared approach.
Aurelia...pressed against a column, her back pinned by a trembling hand and a blade at her throat.
The hand belonged to Vesira.
Vesira, the maid who had somehow appeared from a corridor unknown to the court, her face pale, eyes wide and shaking. Her grip on the blade was tight, yet her fear of Malion was more apparent than her anger. Every noble in the room stepped back from her in terror. No one approached. No one spoke.
Only Aurelia breathed—shallow, cold, the pressure of the knife brushing the hollow beneath her jaw.
Malion's gaze lingered on that blade.
Not on Vesira.
Not on Aurelia.
Just the metal.
A cold, calculating assessment.
When he finally spoke, his voice rolled through the hall like thunder curbed into a whisper.
"Let her go."
