The king's gaze shifted to the Grand Duke. She dared to lift her eyes slightly, catching a glimpse of the man who had saved her. So it was him… she thought, her mind spinning with the revelation.
"How noble of you, Grand Duke," the king remarked, though there was a biting mockery in his tone.
"I merely did what I believed to be right, Your Majesty," the Grand Duke replied, his voice calm and unruffled, unaffected by the king's taunt.
The king's gaze flicked back to her, but this time, it seemed colder, more deliberate. His eyes swept over her torn camisole. "Who did this to her?" His voice was eerily calm, yet the weight of the question hung in the air like a storm cloud.
She froze, not daring to speak, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.
"I did, Your Majesty," Count Greyfang answered, his tone almost smug, as if he expected approval. Her blood boiled at the casual cruelty in his voice.
"Why?" the king asked, uninterested, his gaze fixed on Greyfang with a dangerous indifference.
"I... I thought you would like it if she appeared... tattered," Greyfang stammered, his earlier arrogance faltering under the king's scrutiny.
The king's eyes narrowed, a cold menace creeping into his voice. "And what made you think I'd like that?"
Before Greyfang could answer, there was a sudden, swift movement—a breeze cutting through the stillness of the room. Without warning, Greyfang's head plopped to the ground, rolling a few feet away from his body before the lifeless form crumpled to the floor. She gasped, her eyes snapping shut in terror as the room plunged into silence. She could hear the sickening thud of Greyfang's body, but she didn't dare open her eyes.
The rest of the room remained eerily quiet, as if the sudden execution had been expected. The king, sitting loosely on his throne, and unbothered, simply muttered, "Insolent bastard. Dare to compare me to a lustful animal."
He waved a hand dismissively. "Get this filthy thing out of my sight."
She flinched, fearing for a moment that he had referred to her, but the sound of heavy boots dragging Greyfang's lifeless body confirmed otherwise. She kept her eyes tightly shut, too afraid to witness any more horror. The coldness in the king's tone, the casual cruelty of his actions—it left her trembling.
Minutes passed in tense silence before Duke Wolfhart broke it, his voice carefully measured. "Your Majesty, now that Count Greyfang is dead, there's no one assigned to oversee the Aster region."
"Doesn't he have any heirs?" the king asked, sounding almost bored.
"He was unwed, my King," Wolfhart replied.
The king gave a dismissive shrug, waving his hand lazily. "Well, the Marquis will handle that. Right, Marquis?" He turned his attention to Thornhowl, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. "I mean, you don't have much choice, do you? After all, it could've been your head rolling on the ground if Greyfang hadn't been such a big-mouthed fool."
Marquis Thornhowl visibly paled, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. He bowed his head deeply in submission. "Yes, Your Majesty," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
The king gave a soft, almost dismissive hum, clearly pleased by Thornhowl's submission. "Now that the bastard is out of the way," he said, his voice casual, as though they were discussing something as trivial as the weather.
She trembled, her body stiff, afraid to move. She could feel his gaze—cold, unrelenting—locked on her, making her skin prickle with dread, but she didn't dare to meet them, feeling the weight of his attention unbearable.
"Let's talk about you," the king said, his voice soft, but laced with menace. Each word felt like a claw scraping down her spine, and her body shook with fear. Whatever he wanted from her, she knew instinctively that it wouldn't end well.