Dear reader, there are moments when careful plans collapse like ice under spring thaw, when years of manipulation crumble in single afternoon, when power reveals itself as illusion maintained only by fear.
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Vetra Nivarre was absolutely livid.
She paced her chambers with the controlled fury of winter storm barely contained, each step measured but threatening, ice magic radiating from her in waves that frosted the windows and made the air taste of metal and rage.
Her mind raced against time itself, calculating, recalculating, searching desperately for the move that would salvage everything.
This wasn't how it was supposed to unfold.
The evidence had been planted perfectly. The witnesses coached adequately. The timing calculated to perfection... attack on wedding eve, demon summoning discovered, accusations leveled before Soren could properly defend her.
