The color drained from Christan's face like ink fading from parchment.
His once smug grin twisted into a gaping expression of disbelief as the blackened smoke vanished under Kyle's control. He could feel the gazes on him—cold, accusing, and confused.
"I-I didn't know!!!"
Christan stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
"That knight—he wasn't supposed to be like that. I didn't—" The rest of his words caught in his throat, refusing to come out. His legs trembled, and sweat beaded down the side of his face.
The Duke's cold stare bore into him.
With a deep sigh, the Duke turned away from the dissipating smoke and addressed the crowd,
"Regardless of what your intentions were, Christan, what just happened is not something that can be brushed off."
His voice was heavy with disdain.