As the others dispersed to their various tasks, Cleora pulled Jolthar aside into a private sitting room. The moment the door closed, her composed facade cracked slightly.
"You could have died," she said quietly, her voice shaking just a little. "That princess—she was one of the strongest people in the empire, and you fought her to a standstill. But if that fight had gone differently..."
Jolthar pulled her into an embrace. "But it didn't. I'm here. I'm fine."
"This time," Cleora insisted, pulling back to look at him. "But you just said you're staying, that you'll fight anyone else who comes. Jolthar, there are people in this empire who make Princess Seraphine look weak by comparison. What happens when one of them decides you're a threat?"
"Then I'll deal with it," he replied calmly. "The same way I've dealt with everything else—by being stronger, smarter, and more determined than my opponents."
"That's not a plan. That's bravado."
