The small girl stood trembling before the much taller Holy Son, her hand still half-raised from the slap, her other arm braced protectively in front of Lady Zhao's statue-like body—as if shielding it from further offence, even though it could no longer be harmed.
The large man beside her spat something guttural in their native tongue, his hand flashing to his blade again before pausing, restrained only by a small thread of lingering reason—one that could snap at any moment.
The air between the Easterners and the Holy Son bristled with killing intent.
Cassian, who had been observing the drama with open amusement, leaned leisurely against the pedestal next to him and muttered just loud enough for Kain and Serena to hear, "Looks like someone tried to preach the wrong sermon."
The Holy Son remained unnervingly calm, brushing a loose lock of gold from his cheek. His smile was as serene as ever. "I simply offered your Lady Zhao an opportunity. A final mercy."
