The crooked living room pulsed with tension as the two locked eyes in silent threat.
"I need that potion, Sir Darian," Sylteena said, her voice cutting through the air like a finely forged blade.
Darian straightened. "With all due respect, Your Highness," he said in a slow and deliberate tone, "I cannot allow that."
Sylteena raised a brow, her eye twitching. "Not allow?" she repeated.
Darian took a step forward. "I may sympathize with your world's suffering, Your Highness, but I know what lives in it. And that knowledge feels like damnation."
His red eyes beamed underneath. "I will not partake in your suicidal request just because it makes you feel it can end your suffering."
Sylteena's expression hardened to a frown, her clenched jaw visibly set. "If you stop him, I'll walk out and find another witch who won't hesitate," she said flatly.
