"Do you have something to say?" Emperor Dominar's voice cuts through the air.
It was aimed at Althea.
Almost instantly, the gala goes dead quiet.
Hundreds watch her like a cornered animal. Whispers form an air pressure that clogged her ears—as she was put in a spot. Singled out. Drola hisses her name, urging her to apologize. Marquess Darius was pale. This was her first time seeing him that scared.
Her siblings took a few steps away, refusing to be grouped up with her. Even her husband followed—cowards.
Unity is easier said than done, especially when it involves the pariah.
Everyone was watching her—a noble woman who overstepped her boundaries. Young, unable to mask what should only be kept in the heart. Untested in the pages of loyalty. Some whispered that she was done. Some pitied her for being naïve. But right now, Althea didn't care.
She was faced with a choice.
Normally, she threaded softly around a decision. Undecided for longer than needed to be.
