Elara raised one eyebrow.
"Go on."
The knight hesitated for only a moment before continuing, encouraged by the subtle nods of the men behind him.
"We're not saying you were wrong," he said carefully. "But it wasn't right either. We're your guards. You don't need to treat us like people who need coddling. We're swords. You wield us—to protect or to strike. We don't break easily. If necessary, you can throw us away. Knights are replaceable. Your safety isn't. Even if every one of us died here, it still wouldn't equal a single scratch on you."
The final words had barely settled when Elara set the plumbing tools down.
She did it slowly, with deliberate calm.
Metal touched stone with a quiet clink that echoed far more loudly than it should have.
Her gaze lifted. It was cold—sharp enough that several knights stiffened on instinct, and one of them lowered his eyes without realizing he had done so.
"Enough," she said.
The word landed clean and final, like a blade striking true.
