Ophelia didn't ask questions. She didn't ask about the decreased number of men returning with them to the Mavez Dukedom. She didn't ask about the injuries on her husband, his people, and how haggard they appeared. She knew the casualties her husband faced that night. By now, there were already rumors of what to call the offensive attack that occurred in and out of the castle. From Ophelia's eerie magic to the vampire and werewolf heads spiked in front of aristocratic houses.
A warning—the next person to touch Ophelia would meet the same fate.
Everyone was on edge. There was barely chatter on the walk back. Mavez men expected retaliation. High society didn't know their next move. The royal family was silent.
To Ophelia, the world ceased to spin. Everyone was waiting for something. An announcement. A reaction. Someone to digest what she did. If she closed her eyes, she could picture the treason sentences slapped upon the Mavez Dukedom.
