Frederick's steel gaze lingered on the Count long enough to make the man quake in the guards' grip. Then, with a faint flick of his hand, he stepped aside.
"Take him," he said, quiet and flat.
The guards obeyed instantly, hauling the Count from the hall, his protests dwindling into pitiful gasps before the doors closed on him.
The silence fractured, nobles rushing to fill it with brittle laughter and too-bright chatter, but the air never truly cleared. Every glance toward the imperial table carried a thread of unease now.
Frederick didn't linger on it. He rolled his shoulders back, the stiffness of command dropping from him as easily as a coat, and crossed the floor with his hands shoved into his pockets. Ash-blond hair caught the ether-light, his steel eyes were unreadable until they softened, just slightly, when they found Cecil.
