Elara's voice echoed off the grand palace steps, sharp enough to cut through the lingering cheers of the crowd. She looked completely unhinged, her hands twitching as if she couldn't decide whether to rip the dagger out of her brother herself or use it to finish the job.
I shrunk back, the heavy weight of guilt pressing down on my chest like a physical stone. "Elara, I—I didn't mean to—he was—"
"Oh, spare her the lecture, Elara," Draven interrupted, his rough baritone dangerously calm, though a faint, mocking twitch played at the corner of his lips. He didn't even flinch as the movement caused a fresh streak of crimson to paint his tunic. "She was simply giving me feedback on my teaching methods. I'd say her point was remarkably sharp."
Elara's jaw dropped. She raised a perfectly manicured brow, her eyes darting from his bleeding shoulder straight up to his face. For a terrifying second, I thought she was going to faint.
Instead, she let out an furious, high-pitched screech.
