"The world called it surrender, and she called it coming home."
Leaving the rigid formalities of the court felt like shedding a heavy, velvet cloak. I walked quickly, my focus no longer on strategy or sovereignty, but on the simple, singular relief waiting for me, and Syra was a silent, powerful presence at my side. After the tense court spectacle where she had expertly delivered her cheeky jab at the King's expense, she was radiating a fierce, contained, purely private energy. The scent of her own adrenaline, mixed with the sharp musk of protective Beta loyalty, was intoxicating.
"A truly magnificent display, my Luna," Syra murmured, her voice low and husky, entirely for my ears. "The King was perfectly contained, and the victory was undeniably ours. I think he's already forgotten why he was angry."
