For a moment, Vyan and Celeste stood frozen as droplets of blood colored the floor. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but his gaze was steady. A thin smile curled his lips, yet it never reached his eyes.
"Hard choices, Tia?" Vyan murmured, his voice eerily calm. "I don't see much of a dilemma here. Either let your nephew rot in some dank cell, or, you know, don't. It shouldn't be as hard as brewing a potion."
"Why…" Celeste asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Why aren't you surprised?"
Vyan scoffed derisively. "Surprised? Please, Tia, give me some credit. I might not have a crown on my head, but I am not stupid. Only a handful of people outside my estate would know how to restrain me—a mage—properly. And I am pretty sure you are familiar with the kind of restriction I am referring to, right?"
