Darius could barely contain his rage. His hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned bone-white, his jaw locked with barely concealed fury.
The nobles around him—once loud with chatter—sat in stunned silence.
Their faces ranged from shock to disbelief, eyes wide, mouths half open as they tried to process the spectacle before them.
Zarot, guard of the third prince, a warrior feared and respected, had just been killed. Brutally. And not by a royal or a famed champion—but by the guard of the forgotten fourth prince.
The execution had not only been savage, it had been deliberate. A message in blood.
Aric—the quiet, overlooked one, the prince no one paid mind to—had stepped out of the shadows. And that unsettled them most of all.
This wasn't merely disrespect toward Darius. It was a declaration. Aric would no longer be ignored.
