"Yes, it was, your majesty."
Draven's cold voice sliced through the tension like a blade, each word deliberate, cutting. The queen's eyes twitched slightly, a faint glimmer of amusement and curiosity crossing her face. She had expected him to confirm the engagement, but the way he phrased it—was—piqued her interest.
"It was?" Queen Aurelia's voice was calm, yet laced with an undertone of authority that sent a ripple of discomfort through the room. She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing as she pressed on, "I don't recall hearing any official news about the engagement being broken. As queen, I'd expect to be informed about such matters beforehand."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Everyone felt the shift in the air. Duchess Blackthorn's fan twitched in her hand, and even Lord Falken, who typically masked his emotions well, looked slightly uneasy. But Draven remained as still as a statue, his expression unchanging, cold as ever.
