ISKERA
If Vane keeps on with this, his father will surely burst a vein—veins, rather—and maybe kill us both off. If the male doesn't do it, then one of his loyal subordinates glaring daggers at us will.
At Vane's declaration, the hall is plunged into another deep silence, one so heavy it feels like a stone is pressing on my chest. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop, the next blow to fall.
Everywhere is still like a graveyard, including the King, whose jaw keeps ticking in a rhythmic, terrifying show of barely disguised fury as he stares at his son.
But Vane maintains his composure; he looks as if what he had just declared didn't have the literal possibility of igniting a war between two supernatural kingdoms.
Finally, I swallow, my hands slipping into the dark, heavy waves of my skirt to hide their shaking from the public's eye. There is only so much tension a girl can take before she snaps.
