Not in bitterness or despair.
It was a deep, knowing laugh that echoed across the courtyard like thunder before a storm.
A king's laugh.
A predator's.
Selene looked at Kael, confusion creasing her brow.
"Has the Duke… gone mad?"
Kael didn't answer at first.
Then he chuckled—low and knowing.
"No," he said, eyes never leaving the man in the center of the courtyard.
"He's just dropping his act."
Selene's breath caught. "What…?"
In front of them, the Duke—pale, bruised, reeking of incense and sickness—stood.
Unsteady, yes.
But on his feet.
The physician reached to support him.
Renold offered his arm.
And still, the Duke stood taller than he had in days.
All around, there was a shift.
A ripple.
General Morien blinked.
The duchess's confident sneer faltered.
Aerik's grin cracked.
Even Veyran's fingers twitched, as if reconsidering the weight of the sword at his side.
They all suddenly looked… wrong.
As if they were the ones exposed.
