Hell hath no fury like a noble woman scorned.
The tension still clung to the air like a shroud, but Remy stepped forward through it all, as casual as ever, one brow arched and that infuriating smirk already curling at the corner of his mouth.
“Theron,” he said with a light chuckle, “you’re an idiot.”
The ripple that followed wasn’t quite laughter, but it wasn’t silence either. A few gasps. A few shocked glances. Even a few suppressed snorts from the Lowborn Squad behind us.
Theron snapped toward him, spine rigid. “I beg your pardon?”
But Remy didn’t flinch.
He met the prince regent’s gaze with unshaken amusement. “You’re the envy of most men in the kingdom,” he said, voice as smooth as velvet, only slightly edged. “Your future bride is considered the most beautiful woman in Warriath. Maybe the entire continent.”
Theron blinked—once.
His lip twitched.
Almost a smile.
And I saw it then, Theron liked being envied. He craved it. It was likely why he chose Lady Belana in the first place. Why Inderia clung so tightly to his arm now. She made him look powerful.
Remy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, pausing as if truly puzzling it out. “You could very well be the next king. It’s yours to lose. But Zander?” He tilted his head. “Zander was never a contender. And you know why.”
A few riders shifted behind Theron. Crownwatch’s own commander looked down at his boots.
“So, it’s difficult,” Remy continued, his voice dropping a note, “to understand why you would trade a throne… for a tomb.”
The words landed like a sword driven into stone.
Theron’s jaw clenched, the near-smile erased in an instant.
Remy stepped back again, hands behind his back, as if the warning hadn’t just shaken the entire Ascension Grounds.
But it had.
Because he was right.
This wasn’t about justice. It wasn’t even about power.
It was about pride.
And if Theron didn’t pull back soon, he’d bury more than his brother.
He’d bury his crown with him.
Theron stood still for a beat, his eyes scanning the broken stillness of the Ascension Grounds, his supporters subdued, his detractors controlled, the rest waiting in tight, uncertain silence.
The power had shifted. And he knew it.
“I will need to review the evidence further,” he said at last, his voice loud enough to carry but laced with the edge of retreat. “Before making a permanent decision.”
He paused, gaze flicking across the riders, then toward the palace steps. “I’m hoping Dorian will return tonight, so I can seek his counsel. We will make final decisions… tomorrow.”
And with that, he turned.
Inderia stumbled a step to catch up, her skirt snapping behind her as she rushed to match his stride. Her chin lifted high, but the court wasn’t looking at her with admiration anymore. The damage had been done.
Zander was pulled to his feet.
