The moment Casper murmured his threat—his voice coiled with venom and a glint of triumph in his eyes—he rose from his chair and left the family hall as though he had merely dropped a casual remark about the weather. The sound of his boots echoed down the corridor, and the silence that followed was deafening.
Cecilion remained frozen in place for several seconds. His body refused to move, caught between fury and dread. His breath was shallow, his pulse erratic, the weight of what had just been said pressing into his chest like a vice.
He forced himself into motion as though his legs weighed twice what they should. Hands trembling slightly, Cecilion climbed the grand staircase with urgency disguised as composure.
