Upon the platform—
Charlotte stood firm, her posture composed and confident, the imposing weight of her greatsword resting effortlessly against her shoulder.
She was without the presence of her usual attendants—no maids…
Meaning—
No shields to obscure her from unwanted eyes.
However…
It was different…
That familiar gaze—once heated with something bordering on desire—was now void of any warmth.
It had transformed into something colder… sharper.
'What's his problem?' Charlotte thought, narrowing her gaze as her eyes found a certain man staring at her.
Arthur stood quietly, the fine rapier in his hand catching the light.
There was no flamboyance in his stance today—only precision.
His expression, carved from stone, betrayed nothing.
But Charlotte could feel it: the barely contained storm behind his eyes.
He was focused.
Dangerous.
To Arthur's right—
Nike stood like a broken doll—silent, head bowed, arms limp at her sides.
Her eyes didn't track movement.
