The room shifted the moment Lucindra spoke.
Not just the atmosphere but the very air. As if the walls themselves held their breath.
Malvoria didn't move at first. Her mind simply stalled.
My granddaughter is beautiful, Lucindra had said, smiling like she hadn't burned bridges and abandoned them all a decade ago.
The gall.
The gall.
The murmurs began at the edges of the crowd, nobles exchanging glances, whispering quickly behind their hands. Some recognized her—others only recognized danger.
Malvoria's body moved before her mind could catch up.
She stepped forward, her boots striking the stone like war drums, cape flaring behind her like a crimson wave. The heat around her rose instantly, faint flame whispering at her shoulders.
"You're not welcome here," she said, voice sharp and perfectly controlled.
Lucindra turned, as if only just noticing the tension. "Malvoria, darling. Still dramatic, I see."
"Still a traitorous leech, I see."
