The slap rang out, sharp, unmistakable, cutting through the air louder than the groaning protest of the searing fabric dome straining above them.
For a moment, everything froze. Not because the fragile dome keeping them alive might collapse at any moment, but because the man's hand had struck the Saint's.
Althea's ruby eyes flew wide, shock washing over her features.
Olga reacted instantly. Her grip on the princess tightened, while her other hand slid to the hilt of her dagger, muscles coiled and ready to strike if she could just step forward and cut down the man who had dared raise a hand against her highness.
She never got the chance.
Althea's fingers closed around Olga's wrist, firm and deliberate. She knew her companion well enough to stop the retaliation before it began.
Across from them, Keiser saw the panic flicker through the elf's carefully maintained guise the moment their hand connected with Althea's.
