Soren's words did not simply linger in the air—They settled. Heavy. Sharp. Like the quiet press of a blade against skin, not yet cutting, but promising that it could.
For a fleeting moment, Lord Tiberin said nothing. Not because he lacked a response.
But because he understood—far too well—the danger hidden beneath those casually spoken words.
He had served the crown for most of his life.
He had stood beside the late King Ardyn in times when the empire had nearly fractured under its own weight. He had witnessed ambition tear through noble houses, seen alliances forged in blood and broken in whispers.
And now—He served King Valerian. A king far more decisive. Far more dangerous. And far less forgiving.
Tiberin knew the royal family very well. He knew their pride, their tempers, their limits.
Which was precisely why unease had rooted itself deep within his chest the moment the king decided to strip the Dowager Queen of her authority.
