Darius could barely contain his rage. His hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were bone white, and his jaw was set with barely concealed fury. The nobles around him, once loud with chatter, had been left in silence.
Their expressions ranged from shock to disbelief, eyes wide, mouths slightly parted as they took in the scene unfolding before them.
Zarot, a guard of the third prince—a powerful warrior in his own right—had just been killed in front of them all, brutally, by a guard of the fourth. The execution had not just been savage, it had been deliberate, a calculated act meant to send a message.
Aric had always been the less intentional, quiet forgotten one, the one no one paid much mind to, but now—now things had changed. That was what unsettled them the most.
This wasn't just disrespect to Darius. It was a declaration. Aric was no longer willing to be ignored, no longer willing to sit in the shadows.
