Medas turned his back on the elderly woman's pleas, his robes billowing as he walked toward his carriage. Morvane stood frozen, his face pale, eyes wide with disbelief. The weight of Medas's words hung heavily in the air, suffocating him more than Drace's earlier outburst ever could.
"But—" Morvane stammered, his voice cracking under the pressure of both confusion and guilt.
"Silence, boy," his grandmother snapped, her voice trembling, not with anger but desperation. She took a shaky step forward, dropping to her knees on the rough ground. "Your Majesty, please—he's my grandson! Whatever trouble he's caused, I beg for mercy. As his grandmother, I take full responsibility. Punish me if you must, but spare him."
Medas stopped, his hand resting on the handle of the carriage door. He glanced over his shoulder, his expression colder than ice. "I don't want to be the one to tell you," he said, his voice clipped and emotionless. "So I'll let him."
