{"When an evil man dies, even the wicked do not mourn."}
FRERY'S POV
The mood inside was deathly silent, the air thick with tension. I stood in the heart of the Vampire Coven's grand hall, my gaze locked onto Lord Marcel, who sat upon his obsidian throne, his fingers curled tightly around the armrests. He was trapped, cornered by the weight of his brother's crimes and the unyielding presence of my mother and me.
At my side, Ma stood regal and unwavering, her silver-white hair cascading over her shoulders like a frozen waterfall. Her expression was cold, yet there was fire in her eyes, a fury barely restrained.