"Didn't I say I'll never forgive you if you hurt Arkai, Lord Dawnoro?"
Immediately, everyone fell silent.
Despite his raised voice just moments ago, despite the thunder of his command still echoing off the walls, August Dawnoro found the wind stolen from his lungs. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound emerged.
The man didn't understand it either. This girl was just an eighteen-year-old magic student. A commoner orphan. Nothing by the standards of his world.
Yet something in her made him think twice.
His hesitation was unmistakable. Sienna saw it. Ines saw it. They had never seen the patriarch react like this to anyone. Not to rival lords. Not to imperial emissaries. Not to anyone.
Arkai, however, noticed nothing but Cecilia.
She moved through the room like smoke, her black dress flowing around her like captured night. The fabric was exquisite, deep velvet that absorbed light, trimmed with silver embroidery that caught the candles' glow.
