"Then your mother has no place in the life we're building together."
Nyrielle's declaration cut through the heavy air of the Imperial Box like the blade of an executioner's ax, stopping only when it pressed up against Maela's throat.
For a moment, no one so much as breathed. The pressure of Nyrielle's gaze as she looked down at Maela wasn't only unbearably heavy; it was incredibly sharp, enough that, for a moment, Maela had the impression that the drop of sweat rolling down her neck was a drop of blood.
Still, she refused to retreat from that pressure, or yield her place in her beloved daughter's life.
"You love her," Malea said, drawing her shoulders back as she looked into the eyes of the abyss. "And you want to protect both her body and her heart. But you can't," she said. "Not without putting her back into the same gilded cage that Rhys and I kept her in."
