Her expression was calm, almost too calm — like a glass surface hiding unseen depths beneath.
For a heartbeat, Alaric said nothing. His shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath. Then, at last, he bit his lip — hard — and gave a single, curt nod.
But his fury didn't dissipate. It merely coiled tighter.
As his gaze swept the table, something gnawed at him — not everyone was here.
"Where are Warren and Jaron?" Alaric asked, his voice cutting through the murmurs.
A beat of silence.
Then, Lawrence, the king's brother and Warren's father, was the first to answer. "Warren left last night," he said with a small, satisfied smile. "He went to fetch a witch doctor for Rose — she fell ill again."
His smile widened, a little too pleased with his son's sense of duty. "He left after defeating Jaron in a friendly game."
A few of the nobles struggled — and failed — to hold back laughter. Their poorly muffled chuckles echoed in the hall, making the tension twist into something darker.
