More painful.
Yselle stepped back, composed again, but the crack had been visible.
The court had seen it.
So had Lucien.
Corvek stood.
“The final public trial is complete. Three candidates have passed. Prince Lucien Vhalor will now name his final bride before crown and temple.”
The room shifted.
This was the moment the palace had been waiting for.
Every pressure in the chamber urged Lucien toward safety.
Yselle was trained, polished, useful.
Tavi was strong, blunt, survivable.
Sabine was scandal, danger, and defiance wrapped in white silk.
Serast spoke carefully.
“The prince is free to name the bride whose devotion, composure, and suitability best preserve the realm.”
A threat disguised as permission.
Lucien stepped forward.
He did not look at the court.
He looked at Sabine.
And he did not hesitate.
“Sabine Corvyr.”
Two words.
Absolute.
The room erupted.
Whispers, shock, some scattered approval, louder disapproval.
Sabine felt the bond answer.
Not as command.
As recognition.
Yselle’s face was a mask, but her hands curled into fists.
Tavi looked grimly unsurprised.
King Aeron looked troubled but said nothing.
