The ballroom was frozen.
Not a whisper stirred. Not a cough. Even the music had died, the musicians standing pale and stiff behind their screens.
Valeris descended the steps from the ruined Winter Garden, glass crunching beneath her boots. Smoke curled from her shoulders where the assassin's curse had tried—and failed—to burn her.
Every noble's eyes were glued to her.
Some were afraid.
Some were calculating.
And a few were already preparing their next move.
They will never stop unless we teach them what fear truly means, Asher thought, standing at her side once more.
Valeris lifted her gaze, her voice cold and cutting.
"Tonight is not the first attempt on my life. Nor will it be the last. But let it be known:
Each assassin you send will cost you blood.
Each betrayal will cost you legacy.
And when I find the hand behind the blade—"
She let the words trail off deliberately, her eyes sweeping across the gathered court like a knife's edge.
