The room had grown colder in the time since James left, as though the shadows themselves leaned closer, listening.
Acantha stood before Alaric, her chin lifted, shoulders drawn back in defiance and curiosity. She wasn't the kind of woman who asked questions lightly—and Alaric knew that. Which made her presence here more dangerous than any blade.
"I asked you a question," she said, voice low but firm. "Where did you get Zara Knight's sword?"
Alaric said nothing at first. He returned to the war table and lifted a rolled-up scroll, tapping it against the wood in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. His face was unreadable, a mask honed through years of leading, fighting, surviving.
But silence wasn't going to stop her.
Acantha stepped closer. "You recognized the name. I saw it in your eyes. You knew exactly what I was talking about."
Alaric finally looked up. "And what if I did? Why does it matter to you?"
