The heavy doors groaned open as Bella was led into the grand throne room by two palace guards. Her feet dragged slightly, the weight of chains biting into her skin, her once-pristine dress now torn and dulled by days spent in a stone cell. Though fatigue clung to her body, her back remained straight, and her chin was lifted high.
The king was still seated on the high throne, his crown catching the last glimmers of the evening light filtering through the stained-glass windows. His gaze was very cold, composed, and devoid of sympathy. He raised a hand, and the guards halted, stepping back.
"Leave us," the king said.
The guards exchanged glances but obeyed. The doors shut behind them, sealing the throne room in an uneasy quiet.
Bella's breath caught in her throat. The silence was louder than any accusation.
