But he said nothing. Just raised his glass again, this time without a smile.
The Queen sat silent on her throne, fingers tapping the armrest. The youngest princess swallowed hard. Somewhere, a violin snapped a string mid-note, and no one dared to react.
Lycien, from his corner vantage point, exhaled slowly.
Here we go.
The Second Prince of Valecroft set down his glass with a deliberate clink that echoed louder than it should have.
Then he laughed.
Not a polite chuckle, nor the carefully measured humor of diplomacy—but something raw, sharp-edged, and almost unhinged. Mocking, bold, and just amused enough to make nearby nobles glance at each other in silent dread. The laughter rang like a cracked crystal in a room gone still.
As it faded, he exhaled a scoff, eyes flicking over Thalos like he was reassessing a bad investment. His words followed.