The Council Chamber cleared out with the same energy of a disturbed bee nest.
The Dukes, men who usually prided themselves on their slow, dignified movements and calculated speech, whispered in tight, panicked clusters.
Their eyes—dark with a mixture of fear and newfound resentment—darted back toward Kyle as if he were a ticking explosive before they vanished into the dim lit corridors. They were scurrying to their rooms, desperate to send messages to their estates to prepare for the economic fallout of the King's fury.
Alex didn't move until the heavy oak doors had groaned shut for the final time.
He remained leaning over the massive semi circle obsidian table, his knuckles still white against the dark stone.
"Alex?" Kyle called out softly from his post by the door. His voice sounded small, stripped of the defiance he had worn in front of the Dukes.
