Ro's muscles tightened and a shaky breath escaped her lips as she looked up at the older priestess in horror.
"Is that so?" Iver questioned. His elbow rested on the table and he cradled the side of his face in his palm, seemingly lost in thought.
"Maya?" the young priestess eyed the older one, the smile still on her face.
A smile Ro was beginning to find odd.
Whispers broke out amongst the guests and the old Erzi noble, blurted, flustered, "What… what is that supposed to mean?"
"Is that your late father's widow by your side?"
The question from Iver made Ro's blood run cold. Her hands trembled as she looked at Fern.
"Ah, this—" The old noble spoke up, only to be silenced as his face paled even further.
Ro did not have to look to know Iver's gaze had sealed his lips shut.
"Ye—yes…" Fern muttered in response, side-eyeing his sister.
Ro's mouth dried up.
This fool.
He had either not planned a consistent story or Iver had disrupted his line of thought.
Whether Fern had realised his mistake or not, Ro could not tell. Tury, however, trembled in her seat. Her eyes were downcast, fixed to the table.
"I see… how wonderful that you bear such striking resemblance."
Tury went stiff.
Fern's eyes widened.
"Ro, was it?"
The hairs at the back of Ro's neck stood on end. Her palms became clammy with sweat. She did not dare raise her head. She didn't want to look at anyone. Of all things, how could she not have considered this.
How could it have slipped her mind?
Of course they would have known from the very beginning.
Ro must have been sent to Lispa under Tury's name. And she had outright told Geneva her real name in that carriage.
Tury raised her head, her lips quivering as she smiled. "Yes."
Ro's heart seized.
'No…'
Her eyes frantically searched the other envoys. Most of the officials tried to keep their composures, but the others could not contain their panic.
Iver's next words were low.
Dangerously low.
"You must take me for a fool."
No one moved. No one breathed.
Iver slowly straightened in his seat, his hand leaving his face. His amber eyes suddenly went cold, calculating as it swept across the Erzi delegation.
"Let me clarify," he continued. "I do not know what you discussed or arranged with our delegation weeks prior. But you arrived here with Tury, the east governor's daughter. The woman I was promised." His gaze slid to Tury. "Your sister."
Fern opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
With her hands glued to her sides in a rigid manner, Tury's face crumbled and a choked sob escaped her throat.
"Your Lordship—" one of the officials started, almost rising from his seat.
"Sit."
The official collapsed back into his chair.
Silence engulfed the hall. Some of the guests below were already on their feet, wearing shocked expressions.
Iver singlehandedly cracked his knuckles, and the sound seemed to echo in the air. Ro shuddered. The air around him felt wrong. Too still, and too heavy.
This man was holding himself back.
Was he going to fling her across the hall the way he had flung that man across the room?
She was closest to the beast after all.
Seated right beside him!
"I want to understand," Iver said almost conversationally. "What did you think would happen exactly? That I wouldn't notice?" His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Tell me. What is this?"
The old nobleman's voice shook. "We meant no disrespect. This is a misunderstanding, and—"
Ro felt it before she saw it. She instinctively drew back, flinching and squeezing her eyes shut as a wet spray hit her. Ro's breath stopped.
Then the screams and yells came.
Fern's own was the loudest.
A whimper escaped Ro's lips as she touched her face, smearing the wet sticky substance. She slowly opened her eyes, and a violent tremor took over her body. Ro gasped, her hands latching onto the armrests of the chair.
Tury's head lay on the floor close to Ro's feet, a bloodied face staring up at her. Fern moaned, darting out of his seat to cradle his sister's crumpled body on the floor. Blood gushed out of the exposed neck, drenching him.
The envoys remained frozen in their seats. Just like Ro.
"A misunderstanding." Iver raised his hand and brought it down, a dark blade sinking into the table.
A scream died in Ro's throat as her eyes followed the rivulets of blood trickling down the blade to stain the wood.
Iver chuckled. "A misunderstanding."
Iver stood, and the scrape of his chair against stone screeched across the chamber.
Ro's nails dug into the wood, splinters digging into her nail beds. Her skin was riddled with sweat, and a searing numbness engulfed her whole body.
In a flash, Iver slammed his hands onto the table. A violent shudder tore through his body as his beast surged beneath his skin. For a heartbeat, Ro saw it. Dark fur rippled across his hands, neck, and face, spreading like wildfire before vanishing just as quickly. Right after, his eyes blazed, and his nails had lengthened into black claws that splintered the wood beneath them.
"A misunderstanding!" he bellowed.
The walls trembled and Ro held onto the chair for her dear life. The envoys scrambled out of their seats, their chairs clattering as they stepped back.
"A misunderstanding! In a gesture meant to forge peace!"
A fine crack tore through the wood, splitting the table in half. The furniture collapsed. The seated Lispans abruptly rose to their feet. Most of them stepped back down the stairs. The prince remained on the podium.
The officials and nobles started yelling panicked pleas, their words crashing into one another to form incoherent nonsense.
Ro's heart thrashed in her chest as she took the chaos all in.
A sudden wave of intense heat radiated from Iver. In a flash, he stood where Tury's corpse laid. Iver lashed out and grabbed Fern by the throat, lifting him off the ground.
Iver silently held Fern in the air like he weighed nothing. Fern's face turned red, and his hands began to claw uselessly at Iver's wrist.
Ro watched in horror as he choked, his eyes bulging.
But without a word, Iver released Fern. The young nymph crumpled to the floor, gasping.
Iver turned to face the entire delegation. His voice dropped to something cold. Final.
"This insult will not stand."