The hall had become a battlefield of whispers, scorn, and thinly veiled triumphs, and yet no matter how the Valecrests and Thornbrooks sharpened their words against me, no matter how they painted me as weak, undeserving, or pathetic, the foundation of my calm remained unshaken. Their voices, loud as they were, carried no true weight. They were nothing but noise. Kael’s presence had grown ominous, his expression a mixture of anger and disbelief, the way one looks at a puzzle piece that refuses to fit into the image they have spent years perfecting. He leaned slightly toward me, his jaw tight, and his voice carried across the hall in the way only he could command, sharp enough to make even Seraphina flinch. “You know,” Kael began, his tone low but audible to all around, “for my wedding, Lady Thunderstorm is coming. And I’m certain she wouldn’t want to see someone like… this… standing here.&rdqu
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