{Elias's POV, first person.}
The throne room felt colder than it should have, the marble walls turning every breath I took into something sharp and visible, as if the entire hall was waiting for me to lose control. The Pope stood before the dais with that same composed expression that had been testing my patience for weeks, speaking as though the kingdom itself belonged to his judgment rather than the crown.
I did not let him finish his sentence before my voice cut through the chamber, sharp and heavy with restrained fury as I shouted "No," the sound echoing so hard through the hall that even the guards shifted instinctively, hands tightening on their weapons.
