Vetra Nivarre paced her chambers like a caged animal, her silver robes swirling with each sharp turn. The afternoon light streaming through her windows did nothing to warm the ice that had settled in her chest, rage, cold and crystalline, that she'd been nursing since the courtyard.
That bitch. That fire-wielding psychopath had humiliated Isolde in front of half the court, had revealed the girl's crimes as though Vetra herself hadn't carefully cultivated those same cruelties for years. And now Soren, her stepson, the boy she'd raised, the emperor she'd controlled, had stood beside the Fire Witch and essentially declared war.
Fine.
If they wanted war, she would give them war.
But not the kind they expected.
"Out," she snapped at her remaining attendants. "All of you. Now."
They fled like startled birds, the door clicking shut behind them with satisfying finality. Vetra stood alone in the sudden silence, her breathing harsh, her hands trembling with barely contained fury.
