Lara's breath hung in the cold air, sharp as glass. Her eyes widened as she watched Claire snatch the small feline form of Atlas from her arms once more.
Claire's crimson hair caught the pale light, a banner of defiance against the ghostly snow. "He's mine for now," she declared, voice trembling between jealousy and pride. "I am a noble of Berminhhum—a high noble. Asking the prince—my nephew—for an heir may sound mad to you, but blood makes its own laws."
Her laughter rang brittle, a bell struck too hard.
Lara's lips parted in disbelief. "You—Claire, that's—"
"Unheard of?" Claire tilted her chin. "You think the old courts still rule us? There's no court left, Lara. Only survival. Only legacy. Our legacy..."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then Lara's temper broke its leash. "As his ...stepsister," she said, voice rising like a drawn blade, "I am bound by right and by blood to continue his line. You think lineage is a game? We are the last of the blood that remembers the light."
