The Emperor's voice was a frantic attempt to tether the room to reality. "Matthias, calm yourself. I am certain this is merely a minor misunderstanding."
Matthias rose from the sofa like a dark tide, his presence dwarfing the Emperor's attempts at diplomacy. "Calm myself?" he echoed, his voice a low, thunderous growl.
"Your Majesty, Her Majesty has dared to strike my wife before, and I allowed it to pass for the sake of peace. But not this time. If she has laid a hand on her again, you must end this farce yourself—or I will."
He was threatening the Sovereign without a shred of hesitation, a lion ready to tear the crown apart. Layla watched him, her heart hammering against her ribs. She hadn't accounted for Matthias being here. Seeing him challenge the Emperor directly was one thing, but if she told him the full, bloody truth, he wouldn't just be angry—he would dig his own grave with the Empress's body.
