"Kneel, Serah!"
"No! I won't! You want me to kneel for them to drink my blood? Never!" My voice cracked across the hall, echoing back at me. "I've knelt enough! I've bled enough! I'm not some toy for the Council to laugh at!"
Gasps rippled through the chamber and the Council lords leaned forward, their goblets frozen halfway to their mouths and Lydia smiled as though I'd handed her a crown.
"There you have it," she purred, turning toward Jethro. "Your discarded wife defies the Council in your own hall! What will you do, my king? Allow her rebellion?"
Jethro's gaze burned holes through me as he descended the steps of his throne slowly, each movement precise, predatory. "Serah, kneel."
I shook my head, hair clinging to my damp cheeks. "You can command the world, Jethro, but not me! I have had enough."
Tristan's eyes widened from where he stood restrained by guards. "Serah, stop—"
