[Lavinia's POV—War Room—Later]
The doors hadn't even finished closing behind the Meren messenger before silence crashed down over the war room.
Not fear.
No hesitation.
A silence carved from calculation.
Clonal Zerith was the first to break it—arms folded, eyes narrowed like he was dissecting the air. "That kid…" his jaw clenched, "he's too poisonous for his age."
"Poisonous is why he survived the throne." Arwin's voice was smooth, almost conversational—which only made the words more brutal. "Let's not forget it. The boy murdered every sibling competing for the crown, even the youngest one."
Sera shuddered. Even Rey—who laughed in the face of bloodshed—lost his grin.
Arwin's eyes shifted to me. "We treat him as a child, we lose. We treat him as a king; we win."
I met his stare, fingers tapping the arm of my chair—slow and merciless. "You're right. That twelve-year-old brat isn't a prodigy… He's poison. And poison spreads if you leave it alone."
