Loss

The chamber was empty now.

But the rage remained.

Duke Thaddeus stood motionless, his back to the door through which Madeleina had disappeared. His chest rose and fell in uneven, measured breaths. His fingers trembled at his sides, his knuckles taut, white with pressure.

He had wanted to kill her.

In that moment, when his palm had stopped mere inches from her face, when his mana had cracked the very air around them—he had wanted to pulverize her, to reduce her to nothing, to crush her beneath the weight of his grief.

But he had not.

Because he knew Madeleina.

He knew her father—the man who had once served this household with unwavering loyalty, who had trained under his own father. The blood of that same man ran through her veins. She had been raised as a shadow of duty, forged in loyalty, tempered by responsibility.

She was no traitor.

She had failed, yes. She had lost Aeliana.