The white of Ellen's gaze flickered, the energy wreathing her hands dimming from a roaring white flame to a smoldering ember. She tilted her head, watching Star step between her and the broken form of Queen Victoria.
"Why are you stopping me, Aunty Star?" Ellen asked. Her voice was devoid of inflection, a flat calm that was far more terrifying than her rage.
"I know the words your father told you, Ellen. Eliminate the threat." Star held her ground, her boots planted firmly on the cracked marble of the Elven courtyard. "But this isn't execution. It's a massacre. You don't have to stain your soul for a victory we've already won."
"I haven't killed anyone," Ellen countered, her eyes narrowing. "Except the one my summon devoured. And frankly, if I wanted them dead, the entire Elven Nation—all 2.5 million of them—would be nothing but ash and memories by now."
