Darion was carried out moments later, barely conscious, bloodied beyond any attempt at dignity. Ysolde rose immediately, her composure fractured for the first time that night, and followed without a word. Elira went with her, eyes fixed forward, jaw tight, refusing to look back at the space where the duel had ended.
The moment the doors closed behind them, the hall erupted.
Trafalgar's name spread through the room in overlapping waves. Not shouted, not celebrated, but spoken again and again in low, charged tones. Branch members leaned toward one another. Wives murmured behind fans and sleeves. Heirs watched with expressions that ranged from calculation to unease. Everyone had seen it. No one could soften it after the fact.
