Claude's arms bent, fingers curling in a tangle of tension. His hands hovered beside her shoulders, their heated anger radiating close enough for her to feel, but then they abruptly changed course, balling into fists that repeatedly struck his own head.
Reacting swiftly, Adela grasped his wrists, halting his frenzied actions in their tracks.
"Even if you've envisioned it countless times, even if he truly deserved such a fate, how could you... Claude de Lanark... how could you make it real?"
He blinked, his chest heaving, wrists held firmly within her grasp, struggling to process her words.
"You're not a murderer, Claude. Father knows it, and I know it. While the rest of the world might perceive you as a hero, believing you were responsible, in Lanark, in all of Emoria, you will forever remain innocent in our eyes."
"Innocent?" He echoed, as if hearing the word for the first time in his life.
