Pretty boy

Meanwhile, Jolthar's mind was working just as furiously. His sharp intuition told him that this was no mere chance encounter.

The strained familiarity between Cleora and Dagur was too conspicuous to ignore.

And then there was Cleora herself.

From the moment she had heard of Chittera's approach, she had been on edge. It wasn't just the looming threat of invasion that had unsettled her—Jolthar was certain of that now.

She's afraid of them, he realized.

The thought sat uneasily with him. Cleora, for all her cunning and composure, was not someone who rattled easily. Yet here she was, faced with Dagur and his men, and Jolthar could sense the fear behind her calm facade.

Jolthar stepped forward, his boots echoing softly against the cobblestones of the square. He sighed, a mix of weariness and resolve etched into his features.

Whatever the relationship between Cleora and Dagur might be, it wasn't his concern—at least not now.