"You dared to conspire against my family. Against him." Her voice trembled, not with rage but with clarity. "I saw what you would do, Dragomir. The ruin you would bring. To him. To all of us. And do you know the worst part?"
The blade whispered along his chest, shallow enough to make him flinch but not to cut. Not yet.
"You wouldn't have succeeded. You would have failed. And yet, in your failure, you would still take everything from him. And for what?" Her head tilted, studying him like something broken. Something...less.
"Jealousy?"
The blade bit.
This time, not gently.
The dagger sank deep into the flesh just above his collarbone. A precise, clean puncture—not enough to kill, not enough to maim—but enough to hurt.
Dragomir arched, a strangled scream forcing its way from his throat as the divine steel burned inside him.
