The hall froze around Sheila's final words, the last syllable hanging in the air like a drawn blade. For a heartbeat—maybe two—no one dared to breathe. Then the silence cracked, splintered into murmurs that spread through the audience like ripples through still water.
Shock, doubt, and outrage. All of it churned together.
"How could a dark mage risk his life for the Crescent princess?" someone whispered, voice trembling with disbelief.
"Nonsense," another scoffed. "Even if she said it, that doesn't make it true."
"…Is it possible he placed a spell on her?" a third voice muttered, half afraid, half hopeful. That thought caught fast, spreading with unsettling eagerness. "He must have manipulated her mind. There's no other explanation. No dark mage would ever—could ever—do something so… virtuous."
"Perhaps a corruption spell—"
"A compulsion, maybe—"
"A charm rooted in darkness—"
