Amberine could feel her heart pounding as she watched Draven and Duchess Blackthorn face each other. The duchess's gaze was unwavering, her eyes filled with distrust, disdain, and an unspoken fury that was almost palpable in the narrow corridor. She held her black fan close, her fingers tightening around its handle, and her expression was as cold as it was fierce.
Draven, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed. His eyes met the duchess's with a steady, almost indifferent calmness, the kind of look that spoke of someone who was completely in control of the situation—someone who always saw a few moves ahead.
"Where is the front?" he asked bluntly, his voice cutting through the heavy silence that hung between them. "There must be a main front where the invaders are being pushed back."
