Henndar's fury burned low and steady, like coals beneath ash. It wasn't Kesha he was angry with. Not truly. But she was in the way now, standing firm in front of the one decision he couldn't hesitate with. Any more delay would only weaken him further.
"Kesha. Step aside."
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. The weight in it was enough to hush the air.
There was no anger in the tone. Only resolve — cold and final. A King's authority dressed in a father's grief.
He wished it didn't have to sound so final, but what could he do when things were running out of control as such?
Inside, his mind raced. Maybe this wasn't necessary, or there was another path. But no voice came.
He was the king. And kings did not get to grieve aloud. Kings had to be precise and make the worst decisions for the best.
