The air was heavy with smoke and distrust. Even as Prince Henry's guards forced space between Helena and the mob, the venom in the people's eyes lingered like knives pressed against her throat. They had been her people once; their laughter had filled her childhood, their loyalty had crowned her family. Now, their voices dripped with suspicion, resentment, and a hunger for vengeance.
Helena stood still. Her every muscle was taut. Her breath shuddered in her chest. Her brother's hand rested firmly on her shoulder, steady and grounding. She wanted to collapse into him, to let his presence erase the terror of being dragged like a criminal through the ashes of her kingdom. But a queen could not collapse. Not here with so many watching eyes.
