A collective gasp. A terrible, echoing silence. It fell over the entire hall, heavy as a shroud. The masked courtiers froze, their faces turning in unison, eyes wide with horror and disbelief. The King, the Queens, Lady Irevya, Princess Elyra—all of them watched, utterly still, as Caldan's eyes rolled back in his head. He crumpled then, a dark, bleeding heap, at Arin's feet.
Arin stood frozen. Her hand, still gripping the dagger hilt, was locked in place, the blade buried deep. Her body trembled, a violent tremor that started in her fingers and shook her to the bone. Her mind fractured between horror, guilt, and the phantom's echo still whispering cruel triumph in her head. You did exactly what you were meant to, sweetheart.
