The silence in the Great Hall was so thick it felt physical. Duke Sterling was still gasping on the floor, and dozens of Alphas remained pinned by the crushing weight of the air.
Alistair finally moved. He stepped into Asarmose's space, his presence the only thing that didn't buckle under the Prince's pressure. He reached out, his large palm resting lightly, almost casually, on Asarmose's left shoulder.
"Darling," Alistair whispered, his voice smooth and teasingly close to the Prince's ear. "If you kill them all now, who would serve me? A kingdom of corpses is terribly quiet, and I'm bored enough as it is."
The tension in Asarmose's shoulders snapped. He cut off the pheromones instantly, the heavy scent of resins and honey vanishing as if it had never been there. He let out a sharp, indignant "Hmph," pouting slightly as if he'd been unfairly interrupted, and marched back toward his throne.
