Suppleness

Donovan let out a soft hum, his golden eyes flicking toward Serafine with vague amusement. "You sure you don't want to reconsider? This one's a traitor. I've got far more entertaining choices. This one's half-dead and—oh, look—completely lacking in charm."

"Yes, yes, I'm aware. She's perfect."

He sighed dramatically, as if deeply burdened by her poor taste. "Fine…"

Stepping forward, his hands reached into his cloak. Every single person in the room braced themselves, their minds racing.

Even Mariella's grip on her weapon tightened, and Calix, normally exasperated beyond reason with Serafine, looked alarmed.

And then—click.

A small, unimpressive iron key dangled from Donovan's fingers.

Everyone exhaled.

Serafine blinked. "Wow. That was—"

"Suspenseful?"

"I was going to say dramatic, but sure."

The prince only smirked, strolling lazily to Clara's cell.