The Great Hall of the Golden Citadel was silent enough to hear a pin drop—or in this case, a reputation shatter.
Nala, the high-born Tiger noble, lay prostrated on the marble floor, her broken leg sprawled awkwardly behind her. She looked up at King Torian with tear-filled eyes, her face a mask of desperate, calculated victimhood.
"You doubt me, my King?" Nala sobbed, her voice trembling with feigned hurt. "You doubt your own kin for a... a savage outsider? I tell you, she has dark magic! She can be in two places at once! She sent a shadow to throw me! It was her!"
She pointed a shaking finger at Roxy, who was standing by the dais, looking less like a murderous sorceress and more like a woman who desperately needed a nap and an ice pack.
Torian looked down at Nala. His expression wasn't one of concern. It was the look a man gives a glass of wine that has turned to vinegar.
He started to laugh.
