The exorcist's authority had been challenged. His eyes, which had been performing a grand show of spiritual torment, now narrowed with a flicker of genuine, worldly anger. He was the master of this room, the conductor of its fear, and this woman's quiet defiance was an intolerable interruption.
"Guards!" he called, his voice a sharp, commanding bark. "This demon spawn is resisting the will of the heavens! Make her kneel!"
The two household guards who had been standing grimly by the door moved forward. They were large, simple men, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and duty. They did not want to touch the Grand Duchess, but an order given in the presence of the Dowager was absolute.
Beatrice, seeing them advance on Marissa, took a half-step forward. "Sir, perhaps…"
